


Aftermath

by Shockodile, SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/F, F/M, Illustrated Fic, Multi, Post-Canon, catradora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 162,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shockodile/pseuds/Shockodile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: After Horde Prime is defeated, there's still much left to be resolved. What to do with all his abandoned clones? What punishment does Hordak deserve for his role in Etheria's suffering? How to restore the Fright Zone to Scorpia's family and what to do with all the indoctrinated soldiers still living there? What to do about the possibility of more magic-based worlds that were converted to weapons by the First Ones - or the possibility that Horde Prime was smart enough to make a backup of his consciousness? And the most important question of all - will Catra and Adora ever be allowed some alone time to explore their newly admitted love for one another?COMPLETE as of 2020-09-10: Written as a sort of "Season Six", this story covers the post-war fallout, a long space adventure to find and destroy Prime's backup consciousness, a slow-burn exploration of what a Hordak redemption arc might look like, and lots and lots of Catra/Adora character study, hurt/comfort, fluff, and occasionally smut. There are some violent action scenes, but no character death.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 904
Kudos: 1220





	1. Privacy

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a collaboration between [SolarPoweredFlashlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight) and [Shockodile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shockodile); all the writing is by SolarPoweredFlashlight, and illustrations are by Shockodile, author of the webcomic [Hellbound Guardian](http://hellboundguardian.webcomic.ws/comics/). Check out Shockodile's [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Shockodile) for more art!

Chapter One: Privacy

**Catra**

Too exhausted to travel far, they make camp in the forest just barely out of sight of Prime’s gigantic drill. They might have collapsed where they were and slept beneath it but for the confused, milling masses of the disconnected clones. Catra can still hear some of them weeping in terror. She wonders, bitterly, how long it will take for that anguish to become fury. She knows what an easy jump it is to make. 

“I wish we had something a little more private,” Adora mumbles as the rebels all select patches of forest floor to claim as their own, with the clear embarrassment of an awkward confession. Why is she embarrassed to want that, Catra wonders? 

_Because she’s embarrassed to be seen with you_ , flashes the unwanted thought. Tired to the bone and utterly vulnerable, her ears give her away before she can stop them. 

“Catra? What’s wrong?” Adora touches her arm, and she has to actively fight the impulse to pull away.

“Say it again,” Catra whispers, unable to control the edge of whimper that tightens around each vowel. “So I know it wasn’t a dream. Do you really love me?”

A dream, or a hologram, or a hallucination, or an alien inside her mind - 

“I love you,” Adora says firmly, taking Catra’s hands in hers and pulling them towards her own heart, pulling her out of the beginnings of her panic. Hearing those words sends pleasant prickles across Catra’s skin, makes her want to kiss Adora again, and again, and again. She looks around at the campsite they’ve chosen, thinking through these kisses she wants, thinking about the many rebels dotted through the trees around them, bunking down among leaves with only their own clothing as blankets. “I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly how I imagined this going.”

“Imagined - “ Catra’s only got her mouth around the word before she follows what Adora is saying. “You’ve thought about us - “ she pauses here, like she’s noticed an open locker door she’s about to walk right into. She stops short instinctively, afraid to bruise herself on the sharp edge of reality. None of this feels real yet. What would she have said? Getting together? Being a couple? None of that encompasses just what they are, what they’ve been through just to get here. 

“I mean at the very least we had like a tent or something, whenever I’d fantasize about it,” Adora continues absently. Catra can only stare, struck by the casual admission. It makes her angry how easy everything comes to Adora, even this. No, but it’s - it’s an irrational anger, purely reflexive, and it’s missing the point. 

“Fantasize, huh,” Catra makes herself say - makes herself _smirk_ as she says it. She’s so, so tired, too tired to be playing these games to try to protect her ego, but she’s so damn fragile right now she thinks she might break into a thousand pieces if she relaxes her grip for a moment. 

“All the time,” Adora says, soft and gentle, touching Catra’s face now, smiling just a little. Hopefully. Always with the damn hope. “Didn’t you?” Heat floods Catra’s cheeks; she leans into Adora’s palm. To her relief Adora holds her fingers steady and strong so she can press into them hard and feel the visceral relief of their solidity. She remembers Catra likes to do that. Of course Adora remembers.

“All the time,” Catra echoes, raw with emotion. She knows she’s purring again, and suddenly understands the desire for privacy. “I could have the energy to walk back to the old hideout if you think you can make it there without falling down, miss blasted-a-spaceship-with-magic-tree-power.”

“For you,” Adora says, “anything.” It fills Catra with an impossible warmth to hear those words. She hasn’t felt this good - this _uncomplicatedly_ good - in years. She grasps at Adora’s shirt and kisses her again, unashamed. If the other idiot princesses want to watch, she doesn’t care. Adora is hers, _hers_ , for real, and the way those battle-rough fingertips find the edge of Catra’s hairline, holding her there and keeping them entwined like this, is a sweet reassurance she never expected to treasure quite so much.

They manage to keep it to two kisses - no, okay, three, just one more - _three_ kisses, and then they break apart. Catra can see Bow and Glimmer very abruptly turning away, and catches the edges of smiles before their faces are obscured. Somewhere else in the camp a voice Catra only recognizes as one of the other princesses whispers a giddy “I _told_ you!” 

“Let’s go find some privacy,” Catra says. 

The first few minutes of the walk, as the noises and smells of other people fade away, they walk in silence. After a while, the only sounds are those of the Whispering Woods mingling with the soft pad of Adora’s footsteps and Adora’s heartbeat. Catra’s had those familiar patterns memorized for years. It made her best friend extremely easy to sneak up on, and impossible to be surprised by. It served the same function when they were on opposite sides on the battlefield. 

“The first night,” Adora ventures, breaking the silence, “at Bright Moon - they gave me my own room. It was awful.” 

“Too many pillows?” Catra teases.

“ _Way_ too many pillows,” Adora confirms, and they laugh. It feels so good to laugh.

Catra reaches out and takes her hand, relishes how naturally and without hesitation Adora entwines their fingers together. “I was so lonely. I missed you so much. I told Bow and Glimmer that I wasn’t used to sleeping alone because I grew up in a barracks, but what I really meant was that I missed _you_.” 

The anger is still there, the hurt - the part of Catra that says _you wouldn’t have been alone if you hadn’t abandoned me_ , the part that wants to hide the evidence of her vulnerability by sneering and teasing Adora for being needy and weak. Catra thinks she’s doing a good job of suppressing it and is searching for a response that isn’t defensive when Adora squeezes her hand, frowning. 

“I’m sorry I left you there,” Adora says, softly. Catra doesn’t want to talk about this yet, not tonight - it’s still too sore, too easy to lash out. Thinking about how easily Adora detected her inner turmoil, she changes subject.

“Did you really not know how I felt about you?” 

“I…” Adora makes that face she always does when she’s weighing her words, thinking through something serious. She strokes her thumb along the side of Catra’s index finger. “I couldn’t tell if I was just fooling myself. If I was projecting my feelings onto you.” Fancy feelings words. Catra wonders which of the princesses she learned the concept from - emotional literacy certainly wasn’t something Shadow Weaver taught them. Ugh, and there’s another knot of feelings she’s going to leave untangling to another day. Shadow Weaver. She’s gone, just like that, gone forever. It’s a relief to be distracted from that line of thinking when Adora asks: “What about you?”

“Did I ever think you liked me back, the way I liked you?” Catra scoffs. “No. You - I just -” She keeps her gaze on the path ahead, as if she can’t find her way back to the old hideout with her eyes closed. “I just figured it would never, ever happen, and I should appreciate what I had instead of dreaming about something I’d never be worthy of.” She risks a glance over at Adora’s face and is struck by her expression - confusion, pity, sadness. “It’s just the truth,” she says, bitterly. “Don’t look at me like that.” She tries to pull her hand out of Adora’s, but Adora tightens her grip. 

“Shadow Weaver really did a number on both of us, huh,” Adora mutters. It’s a balm to Catra’s many aching, invisible wounds that she says it with such venom. If perfect, just, noble Adora doesn’t have to forgive Shadow Weaver even after she sacrificed herself, then Catra isn’t a bad person for not forgiving her either. She’s not sure what to say to that, so they walk in silence for a while longer. She thinks about what Adora’s said, mulls it over in her mind, calms herself with the steady contact of their hands clasped together like when they were young and literally inseparable. 

“They gave me my own room when they made me Force Captain,” she says at last, eyes on her feet. “I think the other Force Captains saw it as this great freedom and luxury, after growing up in the barracks. Scorpia was always inviting people back to hers for games and whatever, had all these pictures up on the walls.” A pause, marbled richly with guilt. “I bet she loved her new room at Bright Moon. Her new friends.” No, don’t linger here. Don’t stop. Get back to the point. “I hated my room. I hated how lonely it was, hated being in it. I’d get up early and work until I passed out just to avoid being in there by myself.” She doesn't look at Adora, can’t stand the thought of the pity in her eyes again. Adora squeezes her hand; Catra internally begs her not to apologize for leaving again. She doesn’t. After a while, though, Adora says:

“Assuming Bright Moon is still standing, the good news is that I’ve managed to get rid of most of the pillows in my bedroom. The bad news is that I still haven’t completely broken Glimmer’s habit of teleporting in without knocking.” Catra does look at her now, and her chest grows tight with affection at Adora’s goofy, lopsided smile. 

“I can think of a way to teach her to knock first,” Catra says, smirking. It’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself. Adora’s face goes red; Catra hears her heart rate leap. 

“Oh yeah?” 

They nearly run the rest of the way to the hideout. 

To their relief, there’s nobody else there when they arrive. Catra goes right for the bedroll that still smells like Adora, pushes it up against the one beside it that was meant to be hers. Her heart is thumping so hard she’s sure even Adora with her pathetically weak hearing must be able to pick up on it. She flops down and pulls Adora with her, delighting in her surprised laugh-giggle. The sound awakes a muscle memory, a familiar long-ago play wrestling instinct, and she laughs back and claims the victory position on top of Adora, pinning her down. Her smirk softens and then dissolves, realizing what she’s doing. They lock eyes; Adora looks up at her with an exquisite vulnerability, so tender it makes Catra want to cry. 

“Hey Adora,” she says, as soft as a caress. She moves her hands from Adora’s unresisting wrists to rest on either side of Adora’s head. Catra has no clear idea of what she’s doing, just that she’s wanted this, wanted Adora, for so long, so damn long. When Adora cranes her face up to catch Catra’s in a heated kiss, her eyes sink shut and she breathes in so deep, basking in the scent of the one she’s loved for so long, in the feel of their bodies finally touching outside of battle. She’s dreamed of this moment, of course she has, but the reality is better than any dream she could have conjured. Adora’s lips against hers, Adora’s hand on her jaw, the other hand - oh, fuck, the other hand at her side and touching the hem of her shirt. The touch is exploratory, but soft - almost too soft. And then Catra notices the kisses have softened too, become… sleepy. She pulls away and looks down at Adora. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Sorry,” Adora says, knowing she’s been caught fighting for consciousness mid-kiss. “I - I was so excited for tonight, but as soon as we were lying down I realized just how tired I am.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Catra says, feeling her own exhaustion assert itself now that she isn’t actively kissing Adora. She leans in and presses their foreheads together. “You nearly died today. Of course you’re tired. We should sleep. There will be other nights.”

“There better be,” Adora mock-grumbles, her smile dopey with how tentatively she’s keeping her grasp on wakefulness. “I love you,” she whispers, and Catra feels the thrill run through her body anew. 

“I love you too,” she says, and shifts from on top of Adora to settle in beside her. “Get some sleep.” And to her surprise, Adora curls into her and nestles her face against Catra’s chest, linking their legs together. After a moment, Catra smiles into Adora’s hair. Even the saviour of the galaxy wants to be held sometimes, she supposes, and drapes an arm around her. 

  
  
  
  


**Bow**

“Where do you think they went?” Glimmer muses, curled comfortably against Bow. 

“I think it’s none of our business,” he replies, softening the rebuttal with a quiet kiss to the back of her neck. “They’ll be fine. I’m sure they just wanted some privacy.” 

“I’m sure they did,” Glimmer says, giving a little conspiratorial wiggle. “Maybe we should follow their lead. I could teleport us somewhere…?” Bow groans, tempted beyond reason, but presses his face into Glimmer’s hair and forces himself to be responsible. 

“We should be here in case something goes wrong. We still don’t know what’s going to happen with all those Horde Prime clones that are just wandering around.” He feels Glimmer stiffen in his gentle grip. “The battle may be won but I’m still not entirely convinced the war is over. And I’m pretty sure I heard Entrapta call one of them Hordak. If he’s still around…”

“If he’s still around,” Glimmer says, tension in her voice, “then we find him, and we - “

“We what, kill him? I thought we were the good guys.” 

“Well… he needs to answer for his crimes. _He_ did this. If it weren’t for him, Horde Prime would never have come here. If it weren’t for him, my mother would be - “ her voice catches, and Bow berates himself for bringing the subject up now instead of leaving it for later once they’ve rested and recovered. 

“A lot of lives were lost and homes were destroyed at the hands of the Horde,” Bow concedes, as gently as he can. He knows how lucky he is that his dads weren’t among those lost. He’s still not sure where his brothers all are, if they’re all safe. “There’s work to be done to heal. Entire villages that need to be rebuilt. We need to figure out what to do about the clones, and find out if they’re dangerous without Prime. If the Horde really is defeated, what do we do about the Fright Zone?”

“We give it back to Scorpia,” Glimmer says with finality.

“Well, yes. But what about all the people living there? Kids like Adora who were raised to believe Hordak was their savior and who would have nowhere else to go if we kicked them out of the Fright Zone?” 

“Maybe… maybe Catra can help. She probably has a better idea than any of us about what those kids need to heal from all the damage done by Hordak’s conditioning.” It’s not a bad idea, but it just draws Bow’s attention to another issue.

“And we need to talk about Catra at some point. I know you two… bonded,” he says this word with a quietly implied question mark, an undertone of uncertainty, “while Prime had you both captive."

Glimmer never did quite fill him in on the details of what happened there. “But if Hordak is responsible for all this death and destruction, so is she. The people who fought by our side saw Catra on the battlefield leading Horde forces more than they ever saw Hordak himself. What are they going to think if we punish him but not her?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Glimmer says. Bow can hear the stubborn rigidity creeping into her tone - maybe talking about this now is a bad idea. “She fixed what she did. She saved me, and she saved Adora, and from what Adora told us about the heart, if Catra hadn’t been there Adora would be dead right now along with the rest of the galaxy.” Bow strokes her arm, trying to calm her down, get her to lower her voice. 

“I don’t disagree. I’m just saying we need to be prepared for what we have to deal with next.” At this, Glimmer releases an enormous, angry huff of breath, and then relaxes in his embrace again. 

“I wish there weren’t something we had to deal with next. I wish everything were just fixed after we got rid of Prime.”

“Nothing is ever that easy,” Bow says apologetically. 

“Nothing is _ever_ that easy,” she agrees, briefly angry again, and then he feels her wrap her hands around the hand he has tucked against her chest. “But at least I have you.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. This seems to bring the conversation to a natural conclusion; she touches his hand idly for a while, following the edge of calluses with her impossibly soft fingertips, exploring the heights of his knuckles and the depths in between them, and then, at long last, starts to gently snore. He lies awake a while longer, looking up through the canopy at the still unfamiliar sight of a sky full of stars. His mind reels with all that lays ahead of them still, all the questions left unanswered, all the threats left unaddressed. He stays awake as long as he can, listening for the mechanical rustle of robots or the footsteps of clones, but finally he dips into sleep accompanied only by the soft murmur of conversation between Spinnerella and Netossa sitting awake on watch duty. 

  
  
  


**Hordak**

The uncomfortable density of the oxygen on this planet is always worst in the Whispering Woods; it’s why he’s always hated going there and left those forays to his Etherian followers. He’d long associated the constant ringing in his ears and loss of peripheral vision with the degradation of his body due to his defect, but the completion of his atmospheric adjustment field had quickly made him aware of the fact that it was not only his technology being impacted by the planet’s vile air. 

And yet - _and yet_ \- it is nostalgic, to be here in this terrible place, imperfect and suboptimal for his kind. He takes a deep breath and almost enjoys the familiar torment of the tinnitus. Almost. 

“We must return to the Fright Zone,” he remarks to Entrapta, interrupting her mid-sentence on a rambling discussion about Prime’s networking technology and abruptly getting to his feet. 

“What?” She asks, blunt as ever. “Why?” He suppresses a little smile; her absolute inability to obfuscate is a wonderful palate cleanser after all that time with insufferable Prime inside of his head. 

“We are not safe here, clearly,” he says, gesturing at the confused, staggering clones to their left and the winking lights of rebel campfires to their right. “We should have left long ago. I was not aware of the passage of time. My senses must still be addled from losing the connection to the hivemind.” It’s not entirely a lie - it took a while to truly return to himself, and he still feels that aching loneliness and fuzzy confusion, but he is hardly the same as the idiotic, whimpering brothers of his who remain cowering below their fallen master’s structures. The time slipped past so quickly because he has been _enjoying_ himself, speaking to Entrapta, though he will hardly admit this out loud. 

“Hordak,” Entrapta says tentatively, “I’m not so sure the Fright Zone is a viable place to retreat to anymore.” She pauses, turns her head towards the sky, and a glitter enters her gaze. “Besides, I can think of somewhere I’d _much_ rather explore right now.” She grins, utterly guileless, and he already knows what she’s about to propose.

“Prime’s ship?” He scoffs. “You saw for yourself what She-Ra did to it.” Her name curdles in his mouth; though she banished Prime from his mind, he feels no inclination to thank her for it. It was an action entirely to her own benefit, one she’d have done regardless of the vessel he occupied. He feels a brief, confusing moment of pity for Prime’s previous favored vessel, thrown to its - _his_ \- death by Hordak’s own hand. That is one brother who will never know freedom. “The hull will have been completely ruined by the infestation of organic matter. The life support system, no matter how technologically superior, cannot endure such a physical disruption any more than it could have survived an explosion or a wrench.”

“Yes,” Entrapta says, without taking her eyes from the ship where it hangs in the sky, her smile unshaken, “and imagine the thrill of repairing that kind of damage. I learn more about a piece of technology from _fixing_ it than I ever do from looking at it in perfect condition. With what I’ve learned from Darla, I know how to make pressurized spacesuits now. We could do it. We could _live_ there, once we’d fixed it. Can you _imagine_ ? Living in _space_ ? All the _time?_ ”

“I do not need to imagine,” Hordak says dryly. “What you propose has no purpose. What would we do with - “ he stops himself. What _would_ he do with an entire repaired ship? Why, an endless number of things. And with Entrapta by his side… here, he does allow himself to smile.

It feels strange to use these muscles again. Strange, and indulgent. “Alright. Your proposal… intrigues me. If we cannot return to the Fright Zone, as you say, then where do we find the supplies and tools we need to achieve this?” His question draws Entrapta’s eyes away at last from the sky and back to Etheria. 

“Oh, Hordak,” she says, giddy with anticipation, “we go back to Dryl, of course. I’ve been waiting so long to show you my old lab. Most of the things I had there are gone of course, taken to the Fright Zone, but maybe I can ask Glimmer to bring me all - “

“ _No_. You cannot let the Rebellion become aware of our plans, or of my presence.”

“But why?” She seems genuinely confused. “Prime is gone. The war is over. There’s no more Rebellion anymore, because there’s no more Horde.” Her matter-of-fact statement runs him through as sure as any sword. 

“I -” Anger. He feels anger roar through him. He grits his teeth tightly together, reminds himself that irritability is a symptom of oxygen toxicity. “Then I request it as a personal favor from you, Entrapta. Keep my presence hidden from them, at least until I have…” he selects his words as thoughtfully as he can through his rage, and concludes: “Until I have a better position from which to defend myself from retaliation.”

“Retaliation? For what?” It takes her a moment, so he decides to start walking while she processes. He has learned not to rush her on these matters, and instead begins scanning the battlefield for one of Prime’s small gunships that might be repurposed for transport to Dryl. He has no intentions of going there by foot. “Oh!” Entrapta yells, from some distance away. “Because of all the death! And conquering! And destruction!”

“Yes,” he growls, eyes locking on to a ship that looks serviceable. There are clones huddled beneath it, looking wordlessly at one another, at him. Could he use them? Perhaps, although the thought disgusts him. “The death, the conquering, the destruction. The decades of ceaseless war. Come, Entrapta. We must leave this place before they, too, remember all of that.”


	2. Facing the Day

**Adora**

She must be dreaming about Catra. Oh, she misses that rumbly, scratchy purr so much. If she wishes hard enough, maybe she can go back to sleep, go back to the dream, go back to Catra. 

Hm, there’s something important she’s supposed to remember about Catra. No, she doesn’t want to remember, it’s probably bad. Back to sleep, back to sleep. 

“Adoooo-raaaaa~” Who is that? Definitely not Bow. Must be Glimmer.

“Five more minutes, Glimmer,” she mumbles, burying her face into the bedroll. The purring stops, and she frowns at the thought that she must now be too awake to be able to get back to the dream. Damn.

“Ouch,” the voice says, “Can’t believe you just mistook me for Sparkles.” 

“Catra!” Adora gasps, and then remembers everything. She opens her eyes and there she is, face only a breath away. It feels like being a kid again, waking up to the unblinking stare of that blue and yellow set of eyes. “Good morning.” To her surprise and delight, Catra _giggles_ , and then presses her face to Adora’s sternum. She’s purring again. Adora reaches up and runs her hands through Catra’s short hair in a state of wonder, following the contour of her ear over and over with her fingers, scratching gently with her fingernails. It’s almost meditative, lying here and touching Catra gently while she purrs, nestled against her chest. For once she isn’t thinking about an upcoming battle, about destiny, about the end of the world. They stay like that without saying anything for a long time, wordlessly happy just to be touching. And that purr goes on and on. Adora’s never heard it last so long, and she’s known Catra her entire life. 

“You know, Glimmer once accused me of being completely incapable of relaxing - “

“And she was right,” Catra interrupts smugly, nuzzling her face against Adora.

“ - but if this is what relaxation is, I think I’d like to do it all the time from now on.” Catra cracks her eyes open at this remark and looks up at Adora with lazy pleasure. This is a much friendlier wake-up than that awkward morning on Mara’s ship. Waking up next to Catra after everything they’d been through, all she’d wanted was just to hold Catra like this - but she hadn’t dared to push her luck or push Catra’s boundaries, so soon after her trauma at the hands of Prime. And besides, she hadn’t known, even then, exactly how Catra had felt about her - whether she’d have wanted to be held.

“We could just stay here for a while, you know,” Catra says. “There are still ration bars lying around. Probably enough for a few days.” Adora snorts laughingly, tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of Catra’s neck.

“Just how long were you planning on lying around like this? I’ve never known you to be capable of sitting still for ten minutes, let alone days.” Catra shifts in her arms and moves her face up to Adora’s neck.

“I was kinda hoping we’d do more than just lying around,” she whispers, placing an experimental kiss to the side of Adora’s neck that makes her breath catch in her throat. 

“Oh yeah?” Adora says, poorly feigning nonchalance, “like what?”

“Maybe we could pick up where we left off last night and see where it goes?” Catra rumbles enticingly. This gives Adora an idea.

“Oh,” she says, a grin spreading quickly across her face, “where were we? Something like _this_?” She quickly rolls over, flipping Catra onto her back and pinning her down in a move they’ve done a thousand times. Catra shrieks and laughs and squirms, calling Adora names without the smile ever slipping from her face. Adora knows she’s not really trying to get free, because she’s never been able to keep Catra down for more than a few seconds. As soon as Adora releases her slim furry wrists Catra is propping herself up to kiss Adora and the world goes mushy and warm and pleasant as soon as she does. This time as they kiss neither of them starts to fall asleep, and Adora becomes increasingly aware of the fact that she’s straddling Catra’s waist. When Catra’s fingertips brush down her back and find their way down to a bared strip of skin where Adora’s shirt has hitched up slightly in her sleep, Adora gasps into their kissing. Catra pulls away and tentatively seeks Adora’s eyes. 

“Is it okay if I…?” Her claws retracted, Catra indicates her intentions by working the very end of her thumb up under Adora’s shirt. 

“Yeah,” Adora says breathlessly, feeling like her skin is alight with pure magic at the points where Catra is touching her. “Do you want me to just take it off?” At the suggestion Catra’s pupils go wide - Adora’s instinct is to prepare herself to get pounced, but Catra only swallows hard and nods. She pulls away a little so that she can sit up to take the shirt off, and to her delight Catra’s hand slides fluidly from her back to rest instead on the top of her thigh. She feels her face get hot when she realizes how intensely Catra is staring, watching. Before she can lose her nerve, she pulls the shirt up and over her head, leaving her in a utilitarian grey tank top identical to the one she brought Catra that first night on Mara’s ship. Catra is still just lying there staring, and Adora very rapidly feels herself getting flustered. “What?” she blurts, fighting the urge to wrap her arms defensively around herself. 

“I’ve never been allowed to look before,” Catra says, with that tiny croak to her voice she gets when she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable. “Can I - can I touch you?” Adora’s sure she’s as red as one of Bow’s decorative hearts by now. 

“I wish you would,” Adora says, and it’s the truth - Catra’s never looked at her like this before, at least not that she’d never noticed. It’s a little overwhelming, to the point that it’s a relief when Catra pushes herself up from the ground and sits up to press their torsos together, running her palms up Adora’s mostly naked back. Adora inhales to try to steady herself, closes her eyes, puts a hand of her own on the back of Catra’s neck. Catra’s hands move up and down, touching, feeling, and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” Catra murmurs into the hollow of Adora’s neck. 

“I’m real,” Adora whispers, “I promise.” Catra answers this with an affectionate bump of her forehead against Adora’s jaw, but her hands never stop exploring. They find Adora’s shoulders, her arms, back up and around, her collar bone, her sternum - only there do they stop. Catra pulls away just a little and Adora opens her eyes again to look at her. Her pupils still look dilated, and she has to swallow before she can ask:

“Have you… done anything like this before?” She sounds terrified of the answer. Adora is quick to reassure her.

“No.” She shakes her head to add emphasis. Catra’s the only one she’s ever wanted - well. Wanted in a serious way, beyond brief admiration from a distance. Besides, she’s been too busy for anything like that. But, wait, if Catra is asking, does that mean she’s…? “What about you?”

“No,” Catra blurts just as quickly, but then casts her eyes aside, embarrassed. “I mean, I’ve… I’ve eavesdropped on people talking about like… how it works, and stuff.”

“And stuff,” Adora teases, unable to resist playfully ribbing her. 

“Hey, don’t make fun of me!” Catra yelps, voice squeaking in indignation. “You _just_ admitted you’re just as oblivious as I am.” 

“I never said I was oblivious!” Adora retorts, and then regrets it as soon as she feels the heat returning to her face. 

“Princesses get a manual about this sort of thing?” Catra smirks, seizing on the opportunity to turn it around on her. “Was it hidden in one of the sub-sub-subsections of the All Princess Ball invitation?” 

“I’ll have you know,” Adora starts with great dignity, then deflates and quickly confesses, “I was sorta drunk on sleep deprivation this one time and kinda sorta asked Netossa to explain it to me.” Catra barks with laughter. “And then she _called Spinnerella over_ to help and - “ Catra laughs harder - “And they kept giving each other this _look_ and then they’d - they’d ask each other - “ she puts on her best impression of Spinnerella, “Is she too young to know about that??” And then Netossa: “If we don’t _tell_ her, she’s just going to have to find out the _hard_ way!” 

“Sounds humiliating,” Catra says, sounding thoroughly pleased. “Did you at least learn anything good?” There’s something deliciously inviting about the way she asks that question that flips some kind of switch in Adora’s brain. In a heartbeat, she goes from admitting something awkward to having the upper hand and feeling self-assured and smug. 

“If you take off _your_ shirt,” Adora whispers, almost purring now herself, “Maybe I’ll show you.” 

  
  
  


**Glimmer**

“I’ll be right back,” She says to Bow, stretching out after a stiff night sleeping on the ground, “I’ve got a pretty good idea of where Adora and Catra probably went off to.”

“Glimmer, no, wait - !” Bow yells frantically, but it’s too late. She winks out and winks back in inside of the old hideout. She has just enough time to process that she does indeed see Adora and Catra and start to shout a good morning before she realizes what she’s just interrupted, shrieks, and teleports away. Bow is waiting for her with a frown. 

“You walked in on them, didn’t you,”

“Not _technically_ \- “ 

“Glimmer! I tried to warn you!” Before he has time to go off on another one of his tirades about not blindly teleporting into places, she zips back over to the hideout, but this time to the entrance and not inside of it. 

“G - good morning!” She yells into the opening, trying to act like everything is fine. “I just wanted to let you know that there’s an important princess meeting happening in ten minutes back at the campsite. I was going to teleport you back there so you didn’t have to walk.” Her tremulous, blushing tone is absolutely not the voice of a confident young Queen, but at least there was nobody else around to see - ah, but, of course, that was the point of those two coming here. 

“Screw the princess meeting, go away Sparkles, we’re busy!” Catra yells from within the hideout. Strong set of lungs on that one. Glimmer doesn’t even need to strain to hear her. 

“S - sorry Glimmer!” Adora splutters, “I’ll be there, just - just give me five minutes to get dressed!” 

“There better be breakfast!” Catra bellows sourly. 

“I’ll come back for you in five minutes!” Glimmer shouts into the cave, and then quickly teleports away so she doesn’t have to hear any more of the creative names Catra is calling her. 

“Did you _learn_ any sort of lesson?” Bow hisses, when she materializes back in front of him. “I don’t know, maybe, something along the lines of, don’t leap into peoples’ bedrooms without warning, because they might be _having sex_?” 

“They weren’t _having sex_ ,” Glimmer squeaks, blushing furiously. Bow looks unimpressed. “They were just kissing!” He crosses his arms. “...without any shirts on.” 

“ _Glimmer - !_ ”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be more careful! Anyways, I need to go see if somebody’s started cooking some kind of breakfast. Who’s in charge of that sort of thing? We only have ten minutes before the meeting, so - “

“Glimmer - “

“Nevermind, you know what, I’ll figure it out, see you in a bit bye!” She kisses his cheek and then hops across the camp to find someone to talk to about getting some porridge cooking, maybe some fried mushrooms. She wonders what the odds are that anybody brought a loaf of bread with them to the battle last night that they still have and would be willing to share. 

Five minutes later she’s back outside the cave, awaited by a deeply crimson Adora and exceptionally surly Catra.

“H - hey guys, sorry about earlier…”

“Don’t mention it,” Adora says. “Please. Literally. Just don’t mention it.” 

“Let’s just get this meeting over with,” Catra growls. 

“Oh, it’s for - “ Princesses only, was what she was _going_ to say, but Adora gives her such a look of ferocity as she takes Catra’s hand that she stops mid sentence. She laughs nervously, grabs both their shoulders, and says, “Well, let’s go!” 

“ - absolutely not just letting him walk away from this,” Mermista is in the middle of saying, when they arrive at the intended meeting place.

“Has anybody seen Entrapta?” Perfuma asks, looking around. 

“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” Glimmer says quickly, eager to get away from the incoming argument she knows is inevitable.

“What is _she_ doing here,” Mermista snaps, attention shifting to Catra. Yep, that’s definitely Glimmer’s cue to leave.

“I’ll be back with Entrapta see you in a second,” she blurts, and teleports away to the giant Horde Prime drill. Alone, she breathes a sigh of relief. Or, well, maybe not alone - she looks around and can’t suppress the uncomfortable shudder that runs through her at the sight of all the clones. They’re clustered in little groups, sitting in fields and near grounded gunships, hiding in the shadow of the gigantic drill. They look listless - lifeless, almost. She’s just barely gotten used to Wrong Hordak, but seeing an army of clones turned to confused, upset children is a lot more unnerving than just one of them. Glimmer wraps her arms around herself, reminds herself that she can teleport away if she needs to, and looks around for Entrapta. She was sure she’d find her pulling apart a robot or a gunship, or the drill itself. 

“Entrapta?” She calls, tensing up at the way it makes the clones turn their heads towards her. She walks past them, trying to pretend they aren’t there, trying to pretend they aren’t following her with their eyes. “Entrapta, where are you?” Dammit, where _is_ she? 

“You seek the Most Pure Brother and his companion?” Glimmer screams and teleports away to the top of a nearby gunship out of pure reflex. She takes ten whole seconds to calm herself back down before she jumps back to where she was, to where a confused, dazed clone is looking up at her. “You seek - “

“I’m looking for one of _my_ people,” she interrupts, hating this interaction with every piece of her being. “The one with long pink hair.”

“The one with the Most Pure Brother,” he says, and the reverent intonation gives her chills. “They boarded a ship together.”

“A ship?? Where did they go? You have to tell me!” The clone regards her with slack-jawed surprise at the intensity of her emotions. 

“I do not - I do not know. I cannot - I cannot ask my brothers.” Tears fill his eyes. “I am sure some of my brothers must have seen, must have heard, but - but I am here, and they were there, and they cannot tell me, I cannot _hear_ them - “

“Okay, great, you just keep having your mental breakdown, I have a very important Princess meeting to run attendance for, so - so uh. Don’t uh - do anything - “ it’s hard to stay severe when faced with one of these clones silently staring at the sky with tears streaming down his face. “Don’t do anything bad.” She walks a little further away, then yells: “Did anybody hear where the - the clone and the pink haired girl went?” Several clones turn to look at her; many react like the first one with tears at the reminder of their disconnected state. One leaps up, face awash with wonder.

“I! I know, my brother! I have the information, please, please let me give it to you, let me share my knowledge!” Glimmer cringes. 

“Where did they go? Just tell me where they went.”

“Dryl,” the clone announces, tears of joy springing up in his eyes, “The Most Pure Brother said he was going to Dryl.” 

“Dryl,” Glimmer hisses. “Dammit Entrapta.” She sighs, rubs her face. And they took one of these Prime gunships. Well. Time to investigate this the Glimmer way. 

  
  


**Entrapta**

“I don’t understand, Hordak,” Entrapta says, staring at a piece of Prime tech she took off their gunship transport and pulling it apart with fascination. “You’re free now. Why bother with all that ‘armies and conquering’ stuff again? Ultimately it was just disadvantageous to be competing with another faction for resources we both needed. Think about this _rationally.”_

“Technology like Prime’s ship does not maintain itself without inferiors to manage it,” he counters, fiddling with a glistening capsule of amniotic fluid. “We will require minions.”

“So I’ll make more robots. And _this_ time, I won’t give them _quite_ as many laser cannons, and then that way all my friends won’t be mad at me, and we can all get along.” The security system lets off a little chirp of warning, and Hordak snarls.

“There is an intruder in your home. I will eliminate - “ 

“Oh! Glimmer!” Entrapta says, beaming, as she turns to study the security camera feed. She presses a button to pipe an intercom transmission to her location. “Hi Glimmer! What are you doing here?”

“Entrapta, what are you doing here? Is it true you’ve got one of the clones with you? Is it Hordak? Did he kidnap you? Are you safe? And why is your home such a _labyrinth?_ I can never get to the right place inside of it when I teleport!” Hordak shoots her a glance that she suspects has some kind of unspoken meaning; it is utterly opaque to her. 

“Hi Glimmer! I came back here because I need some tools, I’m perfectly safe, and yes I have Hordak with me. He’s _fine,_ isn’t that _great?_ ” Hordak sighs loudly, but she’s not really sure what that big huff of noise is supposed to mean. “Oh hey, I wanted to ask you a favor, I need you to teleport to the Fright Zone lab and bring some of my things back here, because - oh, oh, _right,_ shoot, I wasn’t supposed to tell you I had Hordak.”

“Entrapta!” Glimmer shouts into the camera. “Get out here right now!” Her face twists and broils with a collection of emotions that Entrapta only glances at with brief disinterest before turning her attention back to the piece of gunship interface wiring. 

“Sorry, I’m busy working on something _extremely cool.”_ Over the intercom, she hears Glimmer take a deep breath, and emit a loud sigh. What is with all these people expelling breath loudly today? Are they sick? 

“Entrapta, we’re having a meeting of the princesses to discuss what the next steps are. You need to be part of that discussion.”

“I don’t see _why,”_ she says, and genuinely means that. The running of the planet has never really been her business. 

“Part of what we’re deciding on today is what justice for all of the war’s victims looks like,” Glimmer says, which doesn’t even get a response from Entrapta because it doesn’t answer the question of why the discussion requires her attention. Glimmer waits as if that should have some kind of meaning to her. She waits a little more, and then says, “If you care about Hordak, and you care about what happens to him now that the war is over, you should be at this meeting to advocate for him.” More quietly, Glimmer growls, “Since I doubt anybody else will.” Now this, Entrapta does pause to consider.

“You’re suggesting that there will be some sort of punishment for Hordak decided at this meeting,” she says. This she mulls over for a moment, and then brightly says, “Ah, but if you can’t find him, then it doesn’t matter what you decide his punishment should be!”

“Entrapta, we already know that he’s with you.”

“Oh. Yes. Right. Hm.” 

She hears the crack of glass, and looks over at Hordak. He’s holding the shards of something in his hand; green fluid drips from between his fingers. What a waste. She’d been wondering if that stuff might taste better carbonated and with a little added sugar.

“If you think I will meekly accept - “ Hordak begins to say, but before Entrapta can explain to him that he’s out of range of the intercom microphone Glimmer interrupts.

“Entrapta, the meeting is starting now. If you want someone there to be on Hordak’s side, it’ll have to be you.”

“Well, okay,” she grudgingly concedes. She’s not really a fan of this diplomacy stuff. Ethos, pathos, statesmanship, stirring oratory - those are fields far, far outside of her expertise. But Hordak is her friend, and she doesn’t want him to have to go to war with all her friends again. If there’s a chance her presence at this meeting can avert further conflict, that would mean her spaceship repair project will proceed more smoothly, and she won’t lose her lab partner again so soon after getting him back. “I’ll be right there,” she says, and cuts the comm line. She turns to Hordak and thrusts the wrench she was holding into his hands. “I have no idea how long this meeting will take, but hopefully you’ll have had lots of time to make me schematics of that ship and start thinking about how to restore the life support. For our _space ship!_ Ohh, this is so exciting!” He splutters something, but she’s already off and navigating her way to Glimmer’s location before it even occurs to her that he might have wanted her to stay and listen to whatever he’d been about to say. 

  
  



	3. The Princess Meeting

**Catra**

Glimmer appearing suddenly with Entrapta in tow is probably the only thing that stops Catra from jumping on Mermista and giving her a reason to start sporting a stylish eye patch. 

“I’m here!” Glimmer declares, as if it isn’t obvious to everyone, and Adora takes the opportunity to grab Catra’s wrist and pull her back towards their spot around the circle. 

“Eat this,” Adora whispers into her ear with unyielding finality, putting a wooden bowl into Catra’s hands. It’s full of steaming porridge, which doesn't look especially appealing but does seem to have some colorful forest berries mixed in and some kind of vibrant red-brown spice on top. She gives it an uncertain sniff and then has to stifle a sneeze. There is _no_ way she’s letting that stupid ocean princess make fun of her sneeze like Glimmer and Bow did. 

“It’s too hot,” she grumbles, pulling her knees up to her chin and pressing her back against Adora’s side. She doesn’t like this circle formation of them all facing each other. She feels exposed. 

“It’ll cool down, you big baby,” Adora says fondly. Catra’s tail flicks in annoyance; when it settles, it rests possessively draped over Adora’s ankle. Let none of these princesses be unclear about the relationship between them. She doesn’t like being publicly demonstrative, but her survival instincts are yelling very loudly at her that being She-Ra’s lover might be the only thing protecting her in this situation, weird tentative friendship with Glimmer or no. Adora gives one of her shoulders a little squeeze, and Catra wants to scoff. There’s no way the golden girl is doing the same thing, showing off to everyone that Catra is under her protection under the guise of supportive affection. She’s way too pure of heart for that. 

“Okay, now that we’re all here,” Glimmer says, looking around the circle, “I’d like to start by saying - “ she pauses. Catra watches from her peripherals, wondering what’s up with her. Glimmer looks at her dad, looks at Bow - neither of which, Catra would like to point out, are princesses either, and yet were still invited to this princess only chat - and then continues: “I’m glad you’re all still with us. We’ve all lost so much throughout the course of this war. We’ve lost homes. We’ve lost parents.” Involuntarily, Catra finds herself thinking about Shadow Weaver, and when she tries to rip her thoughts away from that all-too-recent loss she finds herself looking into Glimmer’s eyes and staring down the woman whose mother she killed by opening that portal. She shifts uncomfortably, looks down at her porridge. She’s not sure she can eat anymore. “We’ve lost friends. But at least we haven’t lost each other. And we never lost hope that with all of us united, we could build a better world.” Catra glances back at Adora out of the corner of her eye; she’s looking at Glimmer with an expression of pride and fondness. Catra has to fight the surge of jealousy she feels, wrestle it back down to the dark depths of her mind. Adora chose _her,_ not Glimmer. 

“Well said,” Glimmer’s father says. Catra rolls her eyes. Brown-noser. 

“Today’s meeting is to discuss the essential next steps. The restraints on the heart of Etheria have been destroyed, and magic flows once more. Prime is defeated, but there’s still more work to be done. We know little of the worlds outside of our own, and because of - “ Glimmer falters, then stands up straighter. “Because of my bad judgement and impulsive decision making, because I did not consult and work with everybody else and chose to act on my own, we are now out of Despondos and back in a dimension populated by other peoples, other planets, and most likely, other dangers.” Catra raises an eyebrow, and glances back at Adora. She didn’t know about this. What exactly is Glimmer taking responsibility for? Was she the one that set off the portal that brought them here and signalled Horde Prime by doing so? No wonder she was so miserably guilty on board the ship. Adora meets her glance, gives her a face that means ‘I’ll tell you later’ and returns her attention to Glimmer. “So the question we have to ask now is, how do we deal with our past, and how do we deal with our future?” 

“Can you make that a little more tangible please? Past and future are very big categories,” Entrapta says. Catra hides a little smile by pretending to check if her breakfast gruel is still too hot to choke down. Entrapta can be abrasive, but with her being an obtuse gearhead in the face of Queen Glimmer’s moving speech and Scorpia smiling sheepishly at her from the other side of the circle, it almost feels… comfortable, familiar, for just a moment. Of course, that means it’s inevitable that someone’s going to ruin it.

“What Glimmer means,” Mermista says, “is that we need to decide what happens to the ones responsible for all the people who _didn’t_ survive. People like Hordak. People like _Catra_.” 

“Like I was _saying before_ ,” Catra snarls, pointing her adorable little hand-carved wooden spoon, “Scorpia is clearly sitting _right there._ Shadow Weaver was apparently living a happy little life in Bright Moon all this time. Hate me if you have to,” this she says with the deepest of bitterness, sure that they all already do, “but if you’re going to act all wise and noble try not to be such blatant hypocrites about it.” 

“Catra _did_ save the world,” Perfuma ventures. “If she hadn’t been with Adora in the Heart of Etheria, well… it would have been bad.”

“And anyways,” Frosta adds, “even before that, she saved Glimmer from Horde Prime and joined the Rebellion. You just were - “ she cringes at the suddenly ashamed expression on Mermista’s face - “weren’t here for that.” The little kid sends Catra a nasty sneer, of the quality only children are capable of. “I still don’t _like_ her,” Catra scrunches her nose at Frosta and sticks out her tongue, perfectly happy to be immature right back at her. “But she’s been a valuable part of our team.”

“There is a difference,” King Micah interjects cautiously, “between a strategic decision during wartime, and an ownership of guilt in the aftermath of that war.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Glimmer says with her usual stubborn finality, even after humbling herself over that same inclination just moments earlier, “Catra has paid the price. She sacrificed herself to free me, knowing what it would cost her.” That, Catra thinks, is not _entirely_ true. She’ll be having nightmares about the time she spent with Prime in her head for a long, long time. It was significantly worse than she could possibly have imagined or prepared herself for. “She did bad things. She made bad choices. And she hurt a lot of people.” Catra stares long and hard into her porridge; Adora’s grip on her shoulder is so, so tight. “But I’ve chosen to forgive her. I made a horrible mistake, and because of Catra I was given a second chance to make things right.” Catra knows in her heart it’s a mistake to look up at Glimmer, to meet her eye, but she’s so surprised to hear Glimmer advocating for her that she can’t help herself. Her throat catches at the blazing look on the Queen’s face, at the intensity and openness of her feelings. Catra’s never seen such a potent expression that wasn’t rooted in violence in some way. She feels her own eyes threaten tears, to be the recipient of an emotion so strong, the subject of a speech so impassioned. “The least I can do is offer her the same in return.” 

Feeling the entire circle’s eyes on her, Catra snuffs in a loud breath, pushes down her tears, wipes at her eyes and nose with a frantic swipe of her hand. 

“Thanks,” she croaks, and wishes she could bury her face in Adora’s chest without feeling like an idiot.

“Well, I mean, I know I’m obviously biased,” Scorpia declares cheerfully, “but I support Queen Glimmer’s decision! Assuming, you know, I guess, that I get a vote. Since you invited me. I think.” 

“You do get a vote,” Perfuma reassures her, and then says, “And I also support Queen Glimmer in this matter.” Catra looks at the wispy, unthreatening princess of flowers from across the circle; Perfuma smiles at her. “I forgive you, Catra.” At that, Catra sets her stupid bowl of stupid breakfast down and latches on to Adora, because she knows nothing will stop her from crying, right here, right now, in front of all these people, and it would at least be better to be seen clinging to Adora than openly weeping. Around the circle, they all chip in a few words. Some are more surly and cautious than others - Mermista is especially clear on this point, as is Huntara - but the final judgement is that Catra has been punished enough, and as long as she’s turned over a new leaf and swears to abide by the laws of the Kingdoms of Etheria, there’s no reason to censure her further. Through it all, she holds tight to Adora, and soaks her shirt with tears, and wonders how she could have fooled them, how they don’t see that she’s unworthy of their forgiveness, how much more they’ll hate her when she inevitably screws up and proves their trust was a mistake. When they’re done, a final voice joins the consensus - a voice she hasn’t heard since the meeting began. 

“I forgive you, Catra,” Adora says, as she wraps her arms around Catra. The darkness of her safe haven pressed against Adora’s chest is interrupted by a brilliant light; she feels one of Adora’s arms slip under the crook of her knee, feels the press of a metal bracer against her legs, and knows that Adora’s become She-Ra for the express purpose of picking her up more easily. “She needs a breather,” Adora tells the group. “Thank you, everyone. Please continue without me - I’ll be back when I can.” 

  
  


**Bow**

Bow blinks tears from his eyes as he watches Adora carry Catra away. There’d been a part of him ready to find some punishment for Catra, if the rest of them had demanded it, but now he feels ashamed to think he’d ever wanted anything but forgiveness for her. He touches Glimmer’s hand, and makes quick eye contact. He’s so, so proud of her, and he hopes she knows it. Then he takes a deep breath and rallies himself for the next issue on the table. 

“Now we come to the question of Hordak.” 

“Hordak saved my life!” Entrapta shouts, leaping into the conversation with sudden passion. “He fought against Prime to save my life. He’s not a bad person!”

“Hordak is not Catra,” Bow says, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, cutting off Glimmer before she can say the same thing but angrier. “We’re all glad to hear he saved you, but…” 

“But he’s been at war with this planet for generations,” King Micah finishes for him. Bow nods gratefully at him for him to continue. “He annexed the Kingdom of Caraboc and stole their Black Garnet for himself - “

“ - so _that’s_ what it used to be called before it was the Fright Zone - “ Scorpia effusively exclaims -

“Raised hundreds, possibly thousands of our own children into indoctrination, using them as his soldiers and stealing from them their Etherian identities and histories. Catra has been doing harm for - for a few years, I’ll admit I’m not totally sure of the timeline - “

“ - he’s been on Beast Island for a while,” Frosta whispers a little too loudly to Huntara -

“But the pain she’s caused is a tiny fraction of everything Hordak has done. He cannot answer for three generations of war and the theft of our children and destruction of our land with one life.” 

“He could,” Netossa says darkly. “With _his.”_

“No,” Bow says quickly, “That’s not how we do things. We’re not killing him.” 

“You can’t kill Hordak,” Entrapta says, starting to sound frantic, “He’s my friend! He’s not so bad once you get to know him. He barely did any of those things you’re talking about, he mostly just stayed in his sanctum and worked on tech - ”

“Tech that he used to try to conquer all of Etheria,” Mermista contributes, scowling. 

“Well, what about - what about something like banishment?” Scorpia muses. “If someone did something really bad in the Horde, we’d banish them to the Crimson Wastes, or Beast Island.”

“Or if you wanted to murder them, and didn’t have the guts to do it with your own hand,” King Micah mutters. Bow notices a few people looking at Entrapta, watching for a negative reaction to this, but she seems to have missed the implication. In fact, she looks like she’s thinking about something entirely different. 

“If exile would be an appropriate punishment,” Entrapta says slowly, working out her thoughts as she speaks, “what about exile to the stars?” 

“To the… stars?” Bow repeats, uncertain of her meaning. 

“Well, it seems simple,” Entrapta says. “If you just don’t want him to be near you, you put him in space. And we’ve got a perfectly good space ship just sitting in orbit, waiting for somebody to go at it with some hedge trimmers and fix it back up! Why, I was already planning on repairing it for the sheer pleasure of the challenge!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Glimmer snaps, narrowing her eyes at Entrapta. “We go to all this work to disable that horrible, horrible ship, and you want to get it up and running again?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I? I was going to bring Hordak with me to work on it anyways, so if that’s all you wanted, problem solved!”

“You were going,” Glimmer says through gritted teeth, “to repair the giant super spaceship of doom, that Horde Prime was using to control all his clones and robots that were attacking us, and then give _Hordak_ access to it?” Entrapta looks at her quizzically.

“Y - e - s,” she says, drawing the word out in the same slow, deliberate way Glimmer drew out her question. 

“Absolutely not, out of the question, just how stupid are you,” Mermista snaps.

“Mermista,” Perfuma says, “we don’t need to call our friends stupid. That isn’t productive.” 

“Well neither is this plan of hers, unless you’re Hordak, in which case, it’s real productive!” 

“Honestly? I think Beast Island might not be such a terrible idea,” Frosta mutters. This makes King Micah frown worriedly in her direction. 

“Entrapta,” interrupts another voice - it’s Adora, returning without Catra. “Do you think he feels any remorse for what he’s done? I think you’d know better than anyone.” 

“Remorse? Well… no, maybe not? You know I’m not very good with subtle emotions.”

“Do you think he understands the harm he’s caused? That he grasps that what he did was wrong, and why?” This re-phrasing of the question only makes Entrapta frown deeper. 

“I’m… uncertain. I could ask him?”

“You know where he is?” Mermista demands, jumping to her feet, reaching for her trident like she intends to go skewer him right now. 

“Of course she does,” Scorpia chuckles to herself. “I think Entrapta’s probably the only real friend Hordak has ever had - oh. Oh, that’s actually kind of sad, now that I think about it.”

Adora sits and gestures for Mermista to do the same. They all turn to her and watch, wait. Bow can see from her contemplative expression that she’s got something on her mind. One heartbeat, two, and then sure enough:

“I’ve been thinking about all this. Thinking about Prime, thinking about the last thing he said to me before I banished him from Hordak’s mind. He said: _though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. So it has been, and so it always shall be.”_ A shudder runs through Bow just hearing Adora recite those words. Beside him, Glimmer tenses up. “He said it with such total certainty, such clarity.”

“He was just completely convinced of his own immortality because nobody had ever stood up to him before,” Netossa says confidently. “It’s obvious he’s gone, because all his clones are just… you know, like Wrong Hordak.”

“Oh, where _is_ Wrong Hordak?” Entrapta chirps. Netossa points across camp at the wayward clone. Entrapta waves at him, and he excitedly waves back. She gasps gleefully. “He must have just learned that one today!” 

“Prime isn’t _here_ ,” Adora says, “but that doesn’t mean he’s gone.” 

“Adora’s right,” Glimmer says. Bow watches her worriedly - she looks pale and nauseous. “Outside of Catra, I think I’ve probably spent the most time actually having conversations with him. He was old - at least a thousand years old - and very, very good at what he did. He’s conquered a lot of planets before he came to ours, he defeated the First Ones even with all their amazing tech. He predicted our behaviour and knew how to manipulate us and use us against each other. I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough not to have some kind of… backup plan. Something not on his main ship that he takes with him to dangerous places.” Entrapta gasps suddenly.

“An external storage device for a duplicate digitized consciousness. Of course! Of course, anything less than that would be reckless! And speaking as someone who spent a _very_ long time hacking into his networks with its endless redundancies, he did not strike me as someone who is reckless.”

“Okay,” Bow says, trying to process this, “okay. So you’re saying you think Prime’s mind could still be out there. Or some kind of backup version of it. Compellingly terrifying as this theory is, what does that have to do with Hordak?” 

“Hordak isn’t just a clone that woke up independent for the first time this morning. He’s been separate from the hivemind long enough that he can actually give us _real_ information about Prime. If any of them can point us to where this backup - or multiple backups - might be, it’s him.”

“SPACE!” Entrapta yells. “If there’s a backup it absolutely, certainly will be in space! We - “

“We are _not_ taking Prime’s old spaceship to find it,” Glimmer cuts her off. She sounds angry, but Bow can hear the underlying panic that the anger is hiding. 

“There’s no need,” Adora says. “We have my ship.”

“It would be nice to take another trip on Darla,” Entrapta muses. “She could do with some repairs.” Her eyes sparkle. “Some _upgrades!_ And she’d certainly be up and running sooner than Prime’s ship. I expect that project to take _years_.”

“Back up, back up, I’m confused,” Mermista interjects. “Hordak spent three generations enslaving children and destroying our home so we’re going to take him on a fun space adventure?” 

“We’d be using knowledge that only he has to make sure Prime never, ever comes back,” Glimmer says, just a little too ferociously. 

“We don’t even know for sure that this “back up” is even real,” King Micah says.

“There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about,” Adora says. She’s obviously had a lot on her mind. Maybe canoodling wasn’t the only thing she and Catra were doing at the old hideout. “When Mara sent Etheria to Despondos, the war between The First Ones and Prime was still undecided. We know they tried to turn Krytis into a weapon the same way they did Etheria, but failed. Odds are, they weren’t putting all their eggs into two buckets.” Not exactly how that saying goes, Bow thinks, but Adora’s certainly better at folksy idioms than she was when she first escaped the Fright Zone. “There are likely other planets out there that have been converted into weapons by the First Ones. I want to find those planets and unchain their hearts the way we did for Etheria, both to free their magic and return it to the people of the planet who it belongs to, but also to make sure there aren’t any more giant superweapons lying around the galaxy, waiting for someone to come and grab them and take advantage of them.”

“So you want to go haring off on a hunt for these magic planets and Prime backups,” Huntara says, scratching her knuckles thoughtfully, “and you want to take Hordak with you. What if he betrays you?” 

“That’s why I have to be the one to go. He can’t overpower me. Not as She-Ra.”

“Then I’m going too,” Catra says, appearing - as far as Bow can tell - out of nowhere. “You may be physically stronger than him but you don’t know him the way I do. If anybody stands a chance of sensing when he’s about to stab us in the back, it’s me.” Adora looks at Catra in that way she does - like she’s feeling a beam of daylight on her face for the first time after a long, cold winter - and he wonders how he ever could have missed how much these two love each other. Adora extends a hand to Catra and she takes it, allowing Adora to bring her back into the circle and taking her place once more by Adora’s side. She sits with her back straight and proud. It’s like she’s a different person from that hunched, sulky child she resembled when they were discussing her fate. 

“I expect it’ll take a long time,” Adora continues, her hand still in Catra’s. “It’ll give us the chance to see if Hordak really is remorseful, if he was as enthralled and enslaved by Prime all that time as he was when he was still connected to him by the hivemind. We can free the magic of planets that were chained by The First Ones, hunt down remnants of Prime anywhere they may still be hiding, and when we get back, we’ll know whether Hordak deserves our forgiveness.”

“I won’t allow it,” Glimmer says, and stands. “Not unless I’m going with you.” Adora looks up at her in surprise. 

“Are you sure?” Unspoken, the worry that Glimmer’s last experience in space was not an especially good one, the reminder that Glimmer’s magic doesn’t work far away from Etheria’s influence. 

“I’m sure. My father can take care of Bright Moon while I’m gone. If Prime is still out there, I need to see with my own eyes that he’s destroyed for good.” 

“Then I’m going with you,” Bow says, standing and taking her hand. Glimmer smiles at him, he smiles back. What he can’t say is that he’s so, so tired. That he’d hoped, perhaps naively, for some kind of breather, even just a small one. That dreams of peace are pointless if you go hunting for new conflict as soon as the war is over. But he can’t say that. Not in this forum. Not now. Not with those exact words. But he does need to figure out how to say it at some point, because he knows he can’t keep going like this forever, and neither can Glimmer. 

“Obviously you’ll be taking me,” Entrapta announces. “You’ll need me to maintain Darla, and I’m not letting Hordak go to space without me. I still need to know what he thinks about my theory on how the microchips might be better utilized to network the nervous system for - “

“Yes, Entrapta, I was planning on taking you,” Adora says, cutting her off before she can gain too much momentum. 

“So much for this, like, council of princesses idea. I guess you’ve already decided what you’re doing,” Mermista says. She sounds unhappy, but she’s smiling. Bow imagines she’s thinking the same thing he is: good old Adora, always stepping up into the leadership role and coming up with a plan. A plan they’ll probably end up chucking out the window at some point, but ah well. They’ve gotten pretty good at improvising. 

“It’s decided, then,” King Micah says. If he’s heartbroken to be saying goodbye to his daughter so soon after finally reuniting with her, he’s doing a good job of keeping it hidden. 

“Entrapta, how long will the upgrades and repairs to Darla take?” Bow asks. He silently begs the universe for an answer that will mean he can get some real rest for the first time in years. 

“Well, it depends on what you want. Oh, and if you’ll let Hordak help! He’s really quite - “

“No,” approximately six different voices answer. 

“Well, in that case, just working on my own - maybe with Wrong Hordak’s help?” Bow smiles a little, thinking about the vast difference in personality between the two. He’s actually maybe sort of a little fond of Wrong Hordak. 

“I don’t see why not,” he says. 

“Excellent! In that case I estimate my efficiency would see a two to fifteen percent gain, depending on how quickly I can teach him, with variables for what kind of access I’ll have to tiny food, and - “

“How long, Entrapta. An estimate please?”

“Oh, yes. I would estimate between ten and fifteen days.” Ten to fifteen days. Not exactly as long of a vacation as he’d hope - and he’s sure those days will be filled with planning and meetings and all sorts of other work. But it’s better than nothing. 

“Okay. That’s settled,” Bow says. “On to the next question. What are we going to do with all these clones?”

  
  


**Hordak**

“Absolutely not,” he snarls into the communicator. “What an absurd notion! They want to trap me in a miniscule, ancient little ship and force me to adopt their baffling set of ethics and backwards attitudes towards science and progress? Bah! Let them exile me. You said for yourself that were I to go to space, I would be removed enough from their range of vision that they’d soon forget whatever grievances they thought they had.” 

“Well, the ship herself is really quite a marvel,” Entrapta says, her voice coming through tinny and warbling with the last minute makeshift device she’d cobbled together. “I asked them if you could help me work on her, but they all said no, which I think is a mistake because the two of us working together on a First Ones spaceship, using parts salvaged from Prime tech, well - suffice to say I haven’t been able to sleep because I keep coming up with new and interesting ideas for how I want to upgrade her. I’m _sure_ you’ll like Darla, she’s got a lot of personality - old tech _always_ does.”

Hordak heaves a frustrated sigh and drops down into what he suspects might be a chair beneath the dust and junk. He winces and fishes a metal bracket out from under his posterior.

“This is not a question of the personality of the _ship_ , so much as the personality of the _shipmates_ . They may as well have consigned me to a prison cell, to have trapped me on a long journey with She-Ra and _Catra_.” He makes sure to give this last name an extra hateful snarl, to ensure his dislike of this short-sighted, impulsive, self-important little traitor is made as clear as possible to Entrapta. He wipes some spittle from his lip, and impulsively looks around to ensure nobody has seen him do this. Perhaps too much emphasis. 

“I know you’re angry because she lied to you about the fact that she sent me to die on Beast Island, but I really had a great time while I was there! You really push yourself to innovate when your resources are limited and the pressure is high to focus for the sake of your own survival.” 

“Catra is a traitor to the cause, she - !”

“Hordak, there is no cause anymore. We’re finally free of all that. Now there’s only _science._ We can chase interesting questions just for the pleasure of finding the answers and not have to worry anymore about whether the answers we get help with some sort of war effort.” This makes Hordak laugh one short, sharp laugh. Ah, his first one since freeing himself from Prime. It feels foreign, but he relishes it regardless as a symbolic gesture of freedom simply because it was forbidden to him.

“You never worried whether the answers you got ‘helped with the war effort’,” he retorts into the communicator, stretching his legs, flexing his toes, looking around at his new home for at least the next three weeks.

“No, you’re right, I didn’t. But it made it a lot easier to get parts if Catra pretended those were my motivations!” It sours his stomach to hear Entrapta speak so lightheartedly of the betrayer who would have been her murderer, had Entrapta’s unlikely genius not overcome Beast Island’s threats. He doesn’t want to think about her. Doesn’t want to talk about her. 

“Well, you’ve given those fools a three week timeframe. You’ve got three weeks to convince them that this idea of theirs is utterly nonsensical. I have absolutely no intention of agreeing to it, and they have no way to compel me to do it.”

“That doesn’t seem true at all, they have _lots_ of ways to compel you,” Entrapta says cheerfully; he can tell from the background noises that she’s talking to him while working on something. “And anyways, you never did answer my question. _Did_ Prime make backups of his consciousness that he stored somewhere other than on his flagship?” His face twists into anger yet again. He cannot tell if his short temper is entirely because of the oxygen content of this planet, or if it is merely habitual, perhaps a flaw in his innate social skills - an aspect of his personality, the Etherians might say. He dislikes all of these possibilities equally. It is simply easier to be angry. It saves any time wasted on trying to feel any other way, when the constant frustrations of being stranded on this horrid planet seek unendingly to return him once more to a state of fury. “Hello? Hordak?” He taps the communicator a few times with a claw, thoughtfully. Prime had thousands of years to perfect his methodologies. Thousands of years to become either complacent, or paranoid. He went to a great deal of effort to erase all evidence of imperfections on his part. Knowing he had some aspect of mortality would have been abhorrent to him. Would he be more likely to try to circumvent it by taking precautions, or to fuel the narrative of his own fantasy by _not_ taking precautions, and therefore refusing to admit mortality?

“I have not decided yet,” Hordak says into the communicator crisply, “whether I am inclined to give the Etherians the gift of this knowledge.” Then he ends the transmission, and fills the empty room for a brief moment with an angry sigh. Angry. Always anger. He’d thought he emulated Prime’s rule effectively, here in his little fiefdom - in his pathetic little mockery of an empire. He’d mostly remembered Prime being angry, so it seemed correct to always feel that way, after he was disconnected from the hivemind when he first arrived on Etheria. The recent reminder of what Prime is like to have in your mind all the time has made him… less certain. Less certain of what Prime was, less certain of what value there was in emulating his rule. Perhaps Entrapta is right. Perhaps the stupid animal joy of victory over a complex engineering project could be… a sustainable long term goal in and of itself. He’s been thinking of this reclamation of Prime’s flagship as a way to reconsolidate power, re-establish himself, begin the Horde anew from the ashes… but the Horde is a creation of Prime, and he rejected Prime and therefore all of his goals and ideals in that moment when he chose keeping Entrapta safe over finally having everything he had ever wanted.

Community. Connection. Purpose. 

What an intoxicating blend. He clenches his fist and unclenches it again, monitoring that nearly imperceptible tremble, the signature of his cloning defect. Betrayed by a body that was supposed to be perfect. Perhaps that was his first indication that Prime was not infallible, that Prime was not loving, that Prime was not - not - 

Bah. He’s done thinking about this. He must rise, and seek the kitchens in this terrible maze. He is hungry, and none of the servants have been restored to functionality yet. Perhaps that will be his task for tomorrow. 

One small taste of purpose, if only a fleeting one. He is ashamed to know he will relish it.


	4. Next Steps

**Adora**

“Of all of the meetings I’ve had to go to where I was being put on trial for my failures and waiting to find out if I was about to be executed,” Catra remarks, glossing over these obviously terrible memories with a glib tone of voice, “that was the first one I’ve actually cried at.” Adora frowns, sticking her spoon back in her bowl of porridge so that she’s got a hand free she can use to drape protectively over Catra’s torso. They’re sitting off in a semi-secluded little glade, still within earshot of the rest of the group but just a little out of sight. They’re nestled together, Adora with her back against a tree, Catra with her back against Adora’s chest, and she’s finally managed to get Catra to eat a bit of food before she makes that comment. 

“Just how often did that happen?” 

“I dunno,” Catra mumbles, her irreverent facade slipping as she rearranges the berries in her breakfast. “A lot. For a while it felt like I was standing trial in every interaction with Hordak. Did you ever actually meet him face to face? He was… he wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to be, I guess.” 

“We don’t have to talk about this, if you don’t want to,” Adora says, as gently as she can. She knows Catra is already raw, and she doesn’t want to go upsetting her even more. 

“I’m not some fragile, trembling weakling,” Catra says, “I can handle a few bad memories.” Adora doesn’t say out loud that she can see as clear as day just how fragile Catra is right now. She’s wound tight, so tight, that her body against Adora’s feels like it’s made entirely of steel cords. Adora moves the arm she’s got wrapped protectively across Catra’s chest to rest her hand instead on one of her shoulders, feeling out the tension there, gently probing with her thumb. 

“You know, one of the hardest things to get used to when I went to Bright Moon was how they look at weakness. It used to constantly annoy Bow and Glimmer that I would hide any of my hurt or weakness from them.” She draws tentative circles of light pressure on the taut muscle between Catra’s neck and shoulder, careful not to push too hard too soon, knowing the sensation will be unfamiliar. 

“I don’t understand why that would annoy them,” Catra grumbles. She doesn’t react negatively to Adora’s touch, so Adora maintains those slow circles with her thumb, increasing the pressure ever so slightly. 

“I didn’t either, for the longest time. It took a while to really understand that they expected me - and everybody else around them - to actually draw attention to it when I was hurt or stressed or feeling vulnerable.”

“Ew, why?” Catra laughs. Her breathing has gotten just the tiniest bit slower and more even. Gently, gently, so as to not startle Catra out of the first tentative edges of unwinding, Adora places her mostly empty bowl down in a hollow between the roots of the tree, and brings her second hand to join the first, cautiously massaging Catra’s neck and shoulders. 

“They don’t see weakness as a bad thing, here. They see it as natural, as… as something that everybody is, something everybody goes through. Instead of hiding when you’re in a state of weakness, they want you to tell them, so that they can protect you and help you heal.”

“I don’t need anybody to protect me. I’ve never needed anybody to protect me.” Catra goes tense again, like she’s carved from stone. 

“You know what happens here if you get a cold, and you let them know?”

“Let me guess, instead of yelling at you for being weak and stupid enough to show it, they make you a flower crown and tell you you’re special.”

“They bring you soup.” Adora leans forward on an impulse and kisses the back of Catra’s neck, and this seems to make her soften just a little in Adora’s hold. 

“Soup, huh?” She says, quietly. 

“Because it helps you heal faster. And they make you rest, and relieve you of whatever responsibilities you had otherwise. It serves a practical function, of course, making sure their soldiers are in good condition and recover quickly, but it’s also… a way to express to the people in their community that they care, and to remind people that they have people who will look after them any time they need it.” 

“Mm,” Catra grunts noncommittally. Adora wonders what she’s thinking about, because it’s clear she’s thinking. She gives Catra a bit, still trying to rub the tension out of her shoulders the way she’s seen Bow and Glimmer do for each other. She let Glimmer try it on her once, but never really, totally relaxed into it the way Glimmer kept encouraging her to do. But maybe it’s something that could help Catra - Bow explained to her once that it isn’t just touch, it’s a form of healing similar to stretching before and after a training session. That thought brings an old memory to the surface of her mind. When Catra still has nothing to say after a while, she decides to bring it up.

“Do you remember,” Adora muses, working her thumbs in soft circles on either side of Catra’s neck, “how we used to help each other stretch after training?” 

“Of course I do,” Catra says, a little smile flickering on her face. “I was sad when we stopped doing that. That was Shadow Weaver again, right? She saw us doing it and told you off for helping me? That was what I always figured.” 

“Uh, well,” Adora begins, trying to figure out how to best word this confession. “Not directly. When I stopped asking you to help me stretch, it was because, well - “ she’s glad Catra’s facing away from her and can’t see her face turning red. It feels stupid to be getting sheepish about it so many years later. “That was right when I figured out that I had a crush on you.”

“What, really?” So much for Catra not looking at her - she twists around to face Adora with an unguarded expression of surprise, and then confusion. “So why did you stop?” 

“Because I… felt like I was taking advantage of you, I guess. I had this ulterior motive that I liked touching you, and being touched by you, and it felt wrong to be using the stretching as a way to get that. As soon as I figured out _why_ I looked forward to training with you so much, well. That was when I knew I had to stop.”

“So you figured all that out back then and you didn’t tell me?” 

“I mean, you didn’t tell _me_ either, that - that you liked me.” 

“I couldn’t risk it.” Catra says, her eyes dropping. “To admit liking you, and then have you turn me down - you were the only good thing in my life. I didn’t want to lose you.” Guilt swells up inside of Adora’s chest, thick and cloying and heavy. She’s not sure she’ll _ever_ forgive herself for leaving Catra behind. She should have tried harder, should have forced her to leave somehow, if she had to. But Catra won’t want to hear that. Instead, she says:

“I was scared too, of what would happen if I ever admitted it. I thought it might drive you away forever.”

“Good luck with that,” Catra says, with a little smirk. “You’re stuck with me now.” 

“And hey,” Adora says, finally circling back around to the point she was hoping to make, “you’re welcome to help me stretch out after training _anytime_.” The dip of her tone into something lower and more carnal is not entirely conscious, but the way it makes Catra huff and swallow and part her lips is the most wonderful thing Adora’s ever seen. 

“I’d like that,” Catra says, soft as the touch of a flower petal, and Adora is leaning in to kiss her when Glimmer’s voice rings out from nearby calling her name. “Just pretend we’re not here,” Catra whispers with a conspiratorial grin before turning around properly and climbing into Adora’s lap. Adora’s mind is instantly scrambled by the press of Catra’s thighs against hers and the intensity of Catra’s grip in her hair as she seizes a desperate kiss. She can hear Glimmer asking where they are but oh, Catra’s mouth is hot on hers and the brush of claws against her scalp and whisper of fangs against her lips has her arching up into the kiss to try to press their bodies together even more. She doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want this to end. 

“Guess you’re done eating breakfast,” Glimmer remarks smugly, sounding entirely too close, and Adora wrenches her face away from Catra in surprise. Catra reacts to this with a long whine, and then flops backwards off of Adora and onto the ground. “Sorry to interrupt - “

“ - no you’re not - “ Catra growls -

“ - but Entrapta found a blow torch and is already talking about taking Darla apart, so I told her she needed your approval of her planned changes before she can start, and she won’t stop begging to be allowed to start the upgrades.”

“Just tell her it’s fine, I trust her,” Adora says, intending to sound airily confident only to find the words coming out short and impatient. She was really, really enjoying that kiss. 

“Do you?” Glimmer asks, raising her eyebrows. “Do you _really?”_ Adora thinks about this for an entire half a second before sighing in frustration and pushing herself to her feet. 

“Okay, fine. Where is she?”

“I’ll take you to her. Catra, you coming?”

“Ugh, I _guess_.” Catra springs to her feet with that uncanny nimbleness of hers and walks to where Glimmer is standing. As she passes by Adora, she murmurs, “You’re gonna pay me back for putting up with these dorks by doing that thing again later, whatever it was you were doing with your thumbs.” Hearing that Catra liked the little shoulder massage puts a bright grin on Adora’s face. Glimmer squints at them suspiciously, holding out her hands for them to take for teleporting.

“What did she just say to you?” Glimmer demands.

“None of your business,” Catra says.

“Why do people keep saying that to me?” And then they wink out, and wink back in underneath the now-familiar hull of Mara’s ship. 

  
  
  


**Glimmer**

She’s just a little jealous - _just a little! -_ that Catra and Adora keep managing to sneak off to kiss each other. Bow is just so sensible and responsible and difficult to tempt, so focused on - _ugh -_ serious problems. Maybe she should ask Catra for tips on how to corrupt him a little more. Just for, ten, fifteen minutes! And it’s not like it’d be hard for them to find somewhere to do it. She could literally teleport them anywhere. They could make out in the middle of the Crimson Wastes for all she cares! 

“Ah, good, you’re here!” Entrapta says. 

“Unfortunately,” Catra grumps. Despite her obviously fake complaining, she wanders over to the table where Entrapta has schematics laid out, the curling edges of giant sheets of paper held down with chunks of metal Glimmer realizes are fingers scavenged from Prime bots. “So what am I looking at?” Catra prompts, crossing her arms. Glimmer smiles at the interaction, glad to see the two comfortable around each other in spite of their rocky history. She catches Adora’s eye and notices she’s smiling too.

“As you can see, Darla was primarily intended for a single occupant, or a small strike force. It’s limited in its facilities and lacks much in the way of comfort for long-term journeying. Now, I don’t mind sleeping in cramped and dirty conditions for months on end, but I’ve been told on multiple occasions by _several_ different people that this is not the norm, which is why I wanted to consult you on the optimal layout before I begin the large-scale structural reworking. Ideally, I need a list of your requirements for _‘creature comforts’_ , if you will, that wouldn’t be addressed by Darla’s existing blueprint.”

“A proper kitchen would be nice. And maybe some food supplies that aren’t a thousand years old,” Glimmer muses. She didn’t mind the protein slaw once or twice, but the thought of living off of it for months is not especially appealing. “I guess I’d better organize getting supplies ready for the journey.”

“First room requirement: kitchen,” Entrapta says, making a note into her recorder. “Reminder, find someone qualified to describe equipment typically found in a kitchen, especially equipment required for making tiny versions of food.”

“Oh, oh, and somewhere to eat that isn’t sitting on the floor. Like a little dining room?”

“What, you gonna include a ballroom and a powder room, too?” Catra snorts.

“Should I? Do we want those things?” Entrapta asks, with all seriousness. “Princess Prom certainly would have been _much_ more entertaining if it had been set in _space.”_

“No,” Adora says laughingly, moving to stand beside Catra at the blueprint-covered table, casually slipping an arm around her waist as she leans in for a better look. “No ballroom, no powder room, whatever that is. Somewhere to eat isn’t a bad idea, though. Maybe we don’t need a dedicated mess hall, we could just have a room with a table and chairs that we can use for planning sessions when we aren’t eating.”

“Multi-purpose room, primary requirements table and chairs. Layout should include space for eight chairs.” Entrapta notes this all down in her recorder.

“Eight?” Glimmer repeats back at her. “The people going are me, Bow, Adora, Catra, you, and Hordak. Who are the other two?”

“Well, one is for Wrong Hordak, of course. And then one for the new friend we’ll probably pick up on the way, because I’ve noticed that you three have made that a habit of yours.”

“Since when is Wrong Hordak coming?” Adora asks, confused. 

“Since I decided he was. He’s a good assistant! And he says he wants to go with us to spread the word to the galaxy of the fall of the false prophet Horde Prime. I can’t wait to introduce him to Hordak! I’m sure they’ll get along, they have so much in common.” 

“Entrapta, that doesn’t seem like the greatest idea,” Glimmer says, frowning absently. She tries to imagine how it would feel to meet a clone that looks just like her that her friends named Wrong Glimmer, and starts to feel weird and uncomfortable so quickly that she has to rapidly change gears. “Anyways, we can talk about that later. We have to talk about the sleeping arrangements.” 

“Catra can keep her bed in the brig if that’s what you mean,” Entrapta says, tapping the part of the blueprint that corresponds to the little room where they set up a cot for Catra to recover away from everyone else. “Darla was designed for the possibility of transporting a small strike force, like I said, so the number of beds in the bunk room is more than adequate.” 

“Oh, no, no no no,” Adora jumps in. “No, that’s not - that might have been fine for a week or two in space, but things are different now.”

“I don’t see how things are different at all.” Entrapta looks up at Catra and Adora, and seems not to make the connection at all even with Adora’s arm around Catra. She looks down at the arm, up at their faces, and then ventures, “Is it that you want to sleep in the brig too? Do you need another cot in there? That hardly requires structural changes.” 

“We need individual bedrooms for the couples,” Glimmer interrupts, lacking the patience to let Entrapta piece it together at her own pace. “One for me and Bow, and - “ she looks at Adora and Catra to confirm, just to make sure she isn’t overstepping any boundaries by assuming, and to her delight Catra is _blushing,_ just barely visible through the thinner fur on her face. 

“Yeah that might be nice,” Catra mumbles, barely audible, scratching some pattern idly into the tabletop with a claw. 

“Okay, so, a bedroom for me and Bow, one for Catra and Adora, and then you and the two Hordaks could probably have your own rooms.”

“Hm,” Entrapta says, brushing a thick lock of hair across the blueprint, “they’ll have to be pretty small rooms, but I think we can accommodate that by reducing the size of the bridge slightly and removing the brig entirely - “

“We might need the brig, Entrapta,” Adora says. 

“What for?”

“For if Hordak decides to betray us.”

“Oh! Okay, that seems sensible.” Glimmer raises her eyebrows at how easily Entrapta acquiesces. 

“I thought you really believed that he’s a good person now and won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Well, if I’ve learned anything from this whole disaster with the Heart, it’s that it’s never a bad idea to have some kind of failsafe, just in case things don’t go the way you hope they will - which they rarely do!” The word ‘failsafe’ makes Catra clutch at Adora’s wrist reflexively, Glimmer can’t help but notice. She genuinely wonders if all these years the Horde kept failing to defeat Adora purely because Catra was protecting her from harm in the only way she could. It’s not the first time the possibility has crossed her mind. 

“I think that’s all we should need in terms of the rooms. What else was there you wanted to run past us?” Glimmer asks. 

“I’ve been thinking about cloaking capabilities!” Entrapta says. “When do you think Melog will be coming back?” 

“Coming back?” Catra sounds gutted. “Melog left? I haven’t seen them since - since - “

“Since the battle? Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them,” Entrapta reassures in her haphazard way, “they looked so happy when all the magic flooded back into the atmosphere. I saw Melog running off into the forest to play with one of those deep forest magic creatures, I’m sure they’ll be back in no time. I just thought one of you might know when. If Melog’s coming with us, we don’t need to worry about cloaking tech, since we can just do it with magic! Oh! _Melog_ can sit in the eighth chair! See, I _knew_ we’d need an extra one.” 

“I’m sure Melog’s fine,” Adora says softly to Catra. It almost makes Glimmer want to blush, seeing how openly Adora dotes on her. 

“Oh!” Glimmer exclaims, suddenly reminded of something. “Adora, Catra, I had something I wanted to show you. Entrapta, can we leave you to work on the rest of this?”

“That would be preferable!” 

“Okay, great. Come on, you guys.” So excited that she forgets to warn them, Glimmer sets her hands on the pair’s shoulders and teleports them away. Catra staggers and retches when they reappear. 

“You have _got_ to stop doing that without telling me first,” she says, putting a hand on the nearest wall to steady herself. “Ugh. Where are we? I don’t recognize this place.” 

“We’re in Bright Moon,” Adora says quietly. “We’re… we’re in my room.” 

“After we evacuated, Horde Prime didn’t bother attacking Bright Moon because he knew he needed the Moonstone for the weapon to work. All he left here was a skeleton crew to send up the alarm if any of us came back. It was all left mostly untouched.” She watches as Adora walks slowly into the room, touching surfaces covered in dust, bending to pick up things left behind during the evacuation. 

“The waterfall is all dried up,” is the first thing Adora remarks on, sounding bitterly sad about something so easy to fix. 

“Your room has a _waterfall_?” Catra snorts. “Is it for - “

“Showering?” they both say at the same time. Adora lets out a little laugh. “No. I asked the same thing. It’s decorative.” Catra makes a face at the idea of a non-functional water feature and Glimmer has to hide her laugh behind a fake cough. 

“We can all come home finally,” Glimmer says. “Isn’t that wonderful? Sure, there’s a little bit of cleaning to do, but it’s… it’s honestly not as bad as I expected it to be.” 

“Hey, uh, Glimmer?” Adora asks, “Do you think you could… go check on Entrapta for a little bit, maybe?” Adora looks at her, then looks at Catra, then looks at her. 

“Oh. Oh! Oh, yes, sure, okay, I’ll be back - uh - when should I come back? In like an hour? I’ll be back in an hour. Okay see you!” And then she winks out and rejoins Entrapta below the belly of old trustworthy Darla.

“Ah, you’re back! Forget something?” 

  
  


**Catra**

  
  


“So… this is where you’ve been living all this time,” Catra murmurs, once Glimmer is gone. She walks around the room, touching things, coating her fingers in dust. “It still smells like you,” she says. She turns to look back at Adora and discovers she’s got a weird expression on her face. “What?” 

“It’s… it’s surreal, is all. I spent a lot of time trying to imagine what it’d be like to have you here with me. The last time I was here was… I guess it would have been right after we got back from saving Entrapta and King Micah from Beast Island, before Prime showed up. It feels like a lifetime ago.” 

“What did you think about? When you - when you thought about me,” Catra asks, afraid of how self-absorbed she sounds for asking but desperately curious. She resumes padding silently around Adora’s Bright Moon room to avoid looking at Adora herself. Circular. Everything here is so circular. At least the bed is a nice respectable rectangle. 

“I used to lie awake at night wishing you’d come climb up to the balcony and into my room, sneaking into my bed to snuggle like you always did.”

“Bit of a longer trek,” Catra chuckles. “But these windows are so huge and open it’s not like it would have been hard. These people really don’t understand the concept of defensive architecture, do they?” She tugs experimentally at the enormous curtain blocking off the window, and a great beam of golden afternoon light pours into the room, highlighting dancing motes of dust kicked up by her exploration. She turns and Adora is looking at her again. “What?” she demands a second time, sounding more shrill and flustered than she means to. 

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Adora says, low and earnest, and Catra’s heart responds with thunderous enthusiasm. She can feel the daylight on her back from where it’s coming through the window, but she’s sure Adora is the one generating all the light and warmth in her world right now. What is she even supposed to say to that? It takes her a second to regain her composure, to come up with a retort that allows her to regain some smirk and swagger:

_“You’re_ one to talk.” 

“Me?” Adora asks, instantly flustered. She is _so_ easy, it’s wonderful. “I’m not - no - I - I’m just a sweaty, under-dressed, unimpressive - “ as Adora wrestles with this unbearable compliment, Catra crosses the room to her so that she can cup her face and double down on the flattery. 

“You’ve always been so beautiful.” It’s incredible, the impact her words have on Adora. She’s never felt so powerful before, strangely enough, seeing her turn red.

“She-Ra is the beautiful one,” Adora mumbles, the unexpected insecurity spilling out of her like it’s something she’s ashamed of. 

“First of all,” Catra says, taking her by the chin and looking her in the eye, “She-Ra _is_ you, so if she’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. But I’ve liked you since - since way before you found that sword. And you weren’t She-Ra at the All-Princess Ball - “ it’s been on her mind since she brought it up back at the hideout to tease Adora with - “and you were, like, _stupidly_ beautiful at that.” Adora’s face goes so pink she almost resembles Scorpia’s carapace.

“You really think so?” Adora whispers. “I didn’t think you’d be there. I thought - I thought you’d think I looked stupid in a dress, when I saw you. Especially since _you_ looked so good.” Catra knows her ears are perking brightly at the compliment, doesn’t bother hiding the bright grin that rushes to cover her face from cheek to cheek. 

“That was for you,” she says softly. “I wanted you to notice me. I - I wanted you to miss me.” 

“I did miss you. I missed you so much already.” Adora leans in and touches their noses together, just barely not kissing her in the sleepy afternoon light. “It felt almost unfair, how good you looked in that suit. I remember actually thinking to myself,” Adora’s face screws up in this wonderful little self-effacing smile, “if I’d known you were going to be there, I’d have tried harder to look - I dunno - sexy…?” The way Adora just about chokes on saying a word as scandalous as ‘sexy’ makes Catra laugh, and then the way her laughter makes Adora smile just makes her want to sweep Adora up and dump her into that sensibly shaped bed and kiss her forever. 

“So you thought I looked sexy, huh?” Catra purrs into Adora’s ear, putting a casual hand on her waist. It’s music to Catra’s ears to hear Adora’s pulse pick up speed. 

“Are you kidding?” Adora breathes, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.” 

“And not just because you expected me to be up to some kind of evil scheme?”

“One that hinged on you _knowing_ I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you looking like that, no less,” Adora laughs. Catra wonders whether Adora’s really forgiven her for all that, whether it’s possible for them to have done these kinds of things to each other without it leaving permanent kernels of resentment in each others’ hearts. That night was undeniably fun - and undeniably about Catra wanting Adora’s attention back - but it still ended in Bow and Glimmer kidnapped and in mortal peril. 

“Come here,” Catra says, feeling like if she stands still she’ll slip all too easily down that line of thinking and have another emotional meltdown like this morning. She takes Adora’s hands and, there in the pastel-soft quiet of Adora’s bedroom, leads her in the dance that her muscles still remember somehow, after all this time. She makes it slow, takes her time, and touches Adora more than is strictly necessary for the dance - which she _also_ did, the night of the prom, although certainly not as brazenly. Adora giggles when Catra dips her, then grabs Catra by the shirt and holds her firmly in place for a kiss. Adora is the one smirking when they part again.

“Next time you wear a suit, let’s just skip the schemes and keep the dancing,” Adora laughs. 

“I think I can agree to that.” Catra grins, righting them both. She seems to have successfully danced away the lurking ghosts of old guilt. Handy trick… she’ll have to remember that for the future. 

“You know, I think you’d look pretty dashing in white and gold,” Adora says, drawing a line with her thumb from Catra’s chin down along her throat and to her collar bone. 

“How do you do that?” Catra says, the words a shuddering exhale, “go from peppy and sweet to totally seductive?” 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know,” Adora crows, going completely over the top with attempted sexy-voice, tripping over her own attempt to be sultry and crashing right back into goofy and adorable. Catra laughs and gives her a playful shove.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, the words full of her love for Adora. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, and as she does she turns her head to just the perfect angle to catch a golden ray from the open window across her eyes, making them light up not with magic but with their own natural beauty. Catra feels like she might choke on how big her feelings are for this woman, so strong, so stubborn, so selfless, and such an absolute goober. She reaches out and catches one of Adora’s hands in hers, seized by a rare solemnity. She stares into those eyes and feels like she ought to say something, something meaningful, something sincere. But what? What can she say that would summarize a lifetime of friendship, an entire adolescence of longing, and years of conflicted love from afar? 

“Adora,” she whispers. She doesn’t have the words, can’t find them, so she clings to the sound of that name on her lips like it’s the only life raft in an ocean of meaning. 

“I’m here,” Adora says, squeezing Catra’s hand. “I’m here, Catra.” Inexplicably, Catra feels tears welling up in her eyes again. She’d thought she’d cried as much as she possibly could this morning, but it seems there’s no limit to her tears now that she’s started just doing this in front of people. She blinks them away.

“We only have an hour,” she says, swallowing down the surge of emotion. “What do you think we should get up to with that hour?” 

“An hour.” Adora sighs in frustration. “That’s not enough time. Glimmer is either oblivious or some kind of sadist, to have given us all of Bright Moon to ourselves but only for an hour.” 

“So you’re gonna spend that tiny bit of time we’ve got moping?” Catra teases, taking hold of Adora’s hips in a move of sudden confidence and walking backwards to where she knows the bed is. “I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.” 

“Oh yeah? If you’re so sure, what do _you_ want to do with that hour?” Catra likes this slightly breathy Adora, just on the edge of aroused. She never dreamed she’d get to see Adora like this. Never dreamed she’d get to be the one making her feel this way. 

“Well for starters - “ Catra feels the edge of the mattress against the backs of her legs. Victory. “ - I want to get you into this bed.” She grabs Adora around the waist and flips her up and over, a quick demonstration of all the work she’s put into getting stronger culminating in Adora landing with a genuinely surprised huff on the bed. Catra settles on top of her, smug for an entire half a heartbeat before Adora smirks back up at her and executes a flawless grab and roll, reversing their positions. 

“You’ve got me in the bed,” Adora says, a wicked gleam of mischief in her pretty blue eyes. “Now what?” Catra curses, swallows heavily, and then curses a second time. 

“Now, uh - now…” her mouth feels totally dry. They only have an hour, but she wants Adora so badly, wants all of her, wants to know her from top to bottom and be known by her in ways she’s never allowed anybody to know her. An hour can’t possibly be long enough for everything she wants. Adora slides off of her, shimmying in next to Catra and in the same movement kicking off her shoes. 

“Isn’t this where you cackle and say you’ve got me right where you want me?” Adora teases, seeming impossibly far away now that she’s beside Catra instead of on top of her. 

“If _only_ you were right where I wanted you,” Catra says, the urgency of her voice betraying just how badly she wants… something, anything. She’s been getting touched and turned on with no relief since last night. Adora rolls over and brings the blanket with her as she does, casually depositing it on top of Catra. As she’d have expected from Bright Moon, it’s an exquisitely soft and light fabric, and even with all her clothes on she doesn’t feel uncomfortably warm underneath it. 

“Will you… show me what you want?” Adora sounds so tentative. It’s almost funny, the way her confidence seems to come and go in spurts. Catra answers by wiggling closer, pressing their bodies together, her back to Adora’s front like when they were sitting at the tree eating their late breakfast together. She takes Adora’s hand and brings it around, guides it underneath of her own shirt to the sound of their thumping heartbeats. 

“I want you to touch me,” Catra whispers, the words barely gasping their way past her fangs. “Adora,” she says again, as if the anchor of her name will make her more sure that this is actually real. Oh, please, please. Let this be real.


	5. Bright Moon

**Adora**

Catra is warm, so warm in her arms. Everything is points of heat; heat between Adora’s legs, heat radiating off of Catra’s body, heat in Adora’s cheeks, heat in the shuddering breath that escapes Catra when Adora slides her hand up her shirt and finds her breast. 

“Catra,” she whispers against the back of one of those big expressive ears she’s always loved so much. 

“Tell me,” Catra demands, keeping her hand on top of Adora’s, keeping it in place, “tell me what you used to think about, when you thought about me.” It almost seems like too great of a task, to make her mind work at the same time that she’s got Catra’s soft breast in her hand, Catra’s ass writhing up against her groin. 

“I used to have this fantasy,” Adora says, swallowing hard, closing her eyes and relishing the way Catra’s breath hitches when she brushes her thumb over her nipple, “that you’d be - you’d be there in the changing room, after I got out of the shower - “ She takes Catra’s nipple between thumb and forefinger, teases gently; Catra whimpers, and it’s the best sound Adora’s ever heard. “I’d, uh - I’d only have a towel on, and there’d be nobody else there - “ The rocking of Catra’s hips back against her, her tail very deliberately between Adora’s legs, is exquisitely distracting. 

“What happens after that?” Catra prompts, her voice gravelly and animalistic, and at the sound of it Adora feels a definite throb between her thighs. She reaches around Catra with her free arm to hold her hips like she’s afraid Catra will fly away, pressing her fingers hard enough into that sweet dip where her leg meets her pelvis that if she had claws like a certain someone she’d definitely be drawing blood. 

“I - there are - a few different ways it goes - “ Adora would probably be feeling absolutely mortified right now to be recounting this to the subject of her fantasies if she weren’t overwhelmed with the feeling of Catra grinding up against her through their clothes, the feeling of her hand up Catra’s shirt. 

“Your favourite,” Catra says, through another gasp as Adora takes full advantage of the opportunity to touch and toy with her apparently rather sensitive nipple. Adora swallows, trying to focus her thoughts. Multitasking is not so easy when you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.

“I get out of the shower -” Adora continues, writhing her own body now in sync with Catra’s, lost in the sway of their hungry rhythm, “ - and you’re there. It’s late at night - I - I’ve been training late, and you’re the only one still awake. You tell me I’m pushing too hard. You call me a suck-up - “ Catra snorts a little laugh that turns into a keen of pleasure at the latest motion of Adora’s fingers over her breast, “ - and then ask if it’s really - really Shadow Weaver I’m trying to impress. And then I tell you it’s you, and you say something like - like ‘well why didn’t you just say so’ - and then, uh - “ Adora swallows, hiding her face against Catra’s shoulder, “ - then say - ‘impress me, then’, and tell me to take off my towel - “ this part of the fantasy makes Catra swear with as much reactive sincerity as if Adora were actually touching her to get her to make that sound. 

“I’m so wet, Adora,” Catra whimpers. “Please, please, can I - will you - “ Catra’s hand scrambles under the blanket to find Adora’s grasp on her hip, pulls it free and moves it down. “Touch me,” she says again, “ _please.”_ Trembling with a blend of anticipation and eagerness and inexperience, Adora allows Catra to direct her hand beneath the waistline of her pants to slick fur and soft heat. “Fuck,” Catra murmurs.

“Good?” Adora asks, slipping her middle finger down and then back up, navigating as best she can, quietly sending a thousand blessings to Netossa and Spinnerella for their shockingly detailed explanations. 

“Good,” Catra confirms, her whole body shuddering. “So good. _Fuck,_ Adora. Don’t - don’t stop talking.” Easier said than done, Adora thinks, keeping her eyes shut tight so that she can more easily visualize what she’s doing with her hand, experimenting with different amounts of pressure, different types of motions, trying to attune herself to Catra’s reactions. What had she been saying? She was telling Catra about the shower fantasy. 

“I uh - you tell me to take off my towel - and I do - “ she must be doing something right, because Catra is arching her back and shaking against her, “ - and you, you touch me all over, and make me - make me stand there while you inspect me - and - “ Catra is rocking hard against her hand now, demanding greater intensity with the cadence of her body, “ - and you say, you don’t like water, so - so you’re going to get all the drips of water off me - with your mouth - “ and at this point, she seizes up, shaking from head to toe, and Adora can hear Netossa’s voice in her head with perfect clarity: when you can tell your partner is coming up to the edge, you have to resist the temptation to do a faster or harder version of whatever you’re currently doing, and just stick to exactly whatever rhythm was working for them and don’t let up. 

With this advice in mind, Adora gives up on being able to maintain her running narrative of the fantasy and just focuses on keeping her momentum steady and unchanging as Catra thrashes and quakes in her arms. It reaches what seems like a peak and Catra’s vocalizations suddenly go from battle-worthy cries to sharp staccato whispers of sound, and then the shaking stops and the rigidity leaves her body. Adora slows and then stops the motion of her hand, but doesn’t pull it away immediately. They lie there like that, sweaty and tangled together, fully clothed under a blanket, stealing their moment of intimacy where they can. Catra heaves a huge breath, and Adora opens her eyes at last. Catra smiles a creaky smile back over her shoulder at her, and Adora reverently leans in and kisses her face in reply. Catra lazily strokes Adora’s forearm where it lays across her stomach, lightly rakes her claws across Adora’s wrist bone where it’s held captive by the waistband of her pants and underwear. After a moment Catra takes that wrist and draws Adora’s hand free, giving a little shudder as she does so, and then - to Adora’s surprise - lifts it up to her face and kisses Adora’s knuckles with unbelievable tenderness. 

“You okay?” Adora asks breathlessly, once she’s got her voice back. 

“Mmmmm,” Catra purrs, turning over to face Adora and wiggle closer into her arms, smiling blissfully. Adora’s never seen Catra like this. She’s half convinced she’s dreaming. 

“That a yes?” Adora presses, wanting to be sure, and at the same time tucks her chin to her chest so that she can kiss Catra’s sweaty forehead.

“Yeah,” Catra says dreamily, wrapping her arms around Adora’s waist and twining their legs together. “That was… good. Really good.” Adora smiles, satisfied with that. Catra’s not really one for effusive praise; that sounds like a glowing review if ever she heard one. Adora’s just about ready to accept this quick semi-discreet release of pressure as an acceptable use of their one hour alone when Catra’s eyes slip open and fix her with a sleepily predatory stare.

“Like it when I boss you around, do you?” The lazy beginnings of a smirk curl up one corner of her mouth. Adora laughs nervously. What did she think would happen if she told Catra one of her fantasies? She’d politely pretend not to have learned anything from it? 

“I mean - I - I wouldn’t say that’s - _exclusively_ what I think about - I mean like I said, that fantasy usually has, has - you know, a few different ways it can go, that’s just _one_ of them - “

“Uh huh,” Catra says smugly, letting her eyes close again. Adora thinks she might be planning to take a quick nap when Catra presses one of her thighs between Adora’s and rubs herself right up against Adora. It pulls a gasp right out of her, which only makes Catra laugh, a short little chuckle rough with sex. “I can hear your heart beating,” she informs Adora, opening her eyes again. “We still have time left.”

“Glimmer’s going to catch us,” Adora reasons, hearing the disappointment in her own voice. She wipes her hand on the bedsheets and then strokes Catra’s face. “I’m happy I got to do that for you.”

“So self-sacrificing,” Catra snorts, rolling her eyes theatrically through a smile. 

“Hey, you’re the one who took my hand and stuffed it down your pants!” She’s just teasing, but a flash of worry crosses Catra’s face.

“Was that okay?” 

“It was incredible,” Adora confesses, cuddling closer to Catra and trying to hide her face with the motion. “I mean. You just accurately pointed out that I uh… have… definitely enjoyed thoughts of you pushing me around.” She wishes they didn’t have to be wearing clothes. She wants to know what it feels like to be totally naked with Catra, to have nothing at all between them when they curl up around each other in bed. 

“You ever think about… the other way around?” Catra reaches up and touches Adora’s face idly as she asks the question, her fingertips brushing so lightly across the edge of Adora’s jaw that she can’t help but let her eyes flutter shut and relax a little into the sensation. 

“What, like, me bossing you around?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s so rare for you to let anybody tell you what to do.” Adora opens her eyes again and turns her head to kiss the palm of Catra’s hand. “I’ve always thought it would be… really flattering, I guess - for you to… to let me boss you around. You know, if you wanted to.” She falls back on that easy, low-stakes phrasing. She’s not really talking about ‘bossing around’ - she’s talking about surrender, she’s talking about trust, she’s talking about things that neither of them have a very happy history with. So she’s being deliberately careful about how she words it. She thinks she’s done well in treading cautiously around the subject, because her answer makes Catra smile at her and curl up against her chest and start purring again. 

  
  


**Glimmer**

When she jumps back to Bright Moon, she thinks she’s being quite respectful and sensible by choosing to teleport outside Adora’s door, and not actually in her room. She even knocks and announces herself before going in - but to her surprise, they’re not in a tangled heated mess in the bed. She hears their voices and follows the sound out to the balcony, where Catra is balanced precariously on the railing and Adora is standing beside her, finishing a sentence that sounds like it’s probably about something to do with the Fright Zone and the way they grew up. Glimmer pauses on the threshold of the balcony, feeling somehow like more of an intruder on this scene than she did when she caught them kissing half naked.

“H - hey guys!” She says, and both turn back to look at her, smiling. “Ready to go back?”

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Have a good chat with Entrapta?”

“I did, actually,” Glimmer says, smiling back at them. She’s quietly relieved when Catra hops down off the railing without hurtling over the edge - she’s been ready to teleport out to save Catra since she saw how dangerously she was perched - and pats herself on the back for thinking to bring them here. She wanted Catra to have a chance to process Bright Moon before it becomes full of other people, most of which will be strangers and past enemies. She’d had the idea to give her this early experience to get her to associate it with Adora first and foremost so that she’d have the best possible chance of being able to accept it as somewhere she could live happily - somewhere she could maybe think of as home, someday.


	6. Doubts

**Hordak**

“A formal treaty of surrender? They cannot _possibly_ be serious.” 

“Oh they’re _definitely_ serious, they spent _hours_ getting the wording right.”

“Bah. Do those fools truly believe a collection of words on a screen have any power to bind me? What would stop me, were I to sign this - this _treaty_ \- from simply doing the things this document forbids me from doing?” 

“Well,” Entrapta muses across the comm line, “If you read the document, they’ve got quite a large subsection about consequences for violating the terms of surrender. King Micah actually dedicated a significant amount of time to - “

“They are merely children squabbling over lines in the dirt,” Hordak interrupts, looking up angrily from the exposed wiring of the robot he called Entrapta to get help fixing. This is not the conversation he’d intended to be having. “If they so desire the Fright Zone, they should seize it. It is undefended. I hardly understand why they waste their time _and_ mine by insisting on a written contract declaring their right to do what they intend on doing regardless.” 

“Oh, I did suggest that,” Entrapta reassures him. “They - you’ve got that cable in the wrong port there, the blue one - that should be in the - yes, that one - they said your signing the treaty would actually make it _easier_ for everybody to accept that you’re not being - ah, what was the phrasing they used? Drawn and quartered in a public square?” 

“Their threats of geometry are irrelevant to me. What manner of rulers are they that concern themselves with the opinions of their rank and file? They should make their decision and punish any who question them!” He hisses with surprise as his tool brushes a raw uninsulated wire and gives him a brief shock. 

“Is that how Horde Prime handled things when any of the clones questioned him?” Entrapta is so lacking in guile that Hordak is truly, genuinely uncertain if she is asking this question with sincerity or attempting to stoke some sort of empathy inside of him. 

“Horde Prime is gone,” he snarls, and hates the way doubt snags at his mind. Is Prime really, truly gone? “My allegiance to him and his methodologies is severed. I should not have to explain that to you.” 

“Pre- _cisely_ ,” Entrapta says, sounding glad that he’s understood something, though he’s unsure of just what she believes they’ve come to a consensus on. “That’s part of what the treaty does, it establishes that Hordak’s Horde and Horde Prime’s Horde are effectively two different factions, and Etheria’s leaders are treating them separately instead of as the same entity.” The implications of this are lost on Hordak, until Entrapta says: “They’re not going to hold _you_ accountable for the things that Horde _Prime_ did.” This makes him pause, briefly stricken. Why does this revelation strike him with such poignance? Was it because he’d simply assumed he’d be regarded as one and the same as Prime by the simple-minded, overly emotional Etherians? He sits back, looking around Entrapta’s laboratory like it holds any answers.

_Catra_ , he thinks, with a flash of fresh, white-hot anger. It was _Catra_ who sowed the seeds of doubt in him, who made him question all he had accomplished here on Etheria in the name of Horde Prime. Throughout all of that time he had spent away from the hivemind, it had been easy to lose himself in the sweet fervor of work, progress, devotion - as long as he had something meaningful to show Prime, some manner of accomplishment, then that would give his own existence meaning and value. With a few barbed words Catra had ripped that foolish notion from him and reminded him of how utterly he had wasted his time here on Etheria.

No. No. Catra had thrust the painful truth into the light where he could not ignore it, but it was Prime himself who so easily disregarded decades of hard-won victories as the naive and self-aggrandizing actions of a defective drone seeking any sense of purpose. 

“The Etherians regard my actions as distinct and apart from those of Horde Prime?” He has to confirm this, has to hear it again to ensure he’s understood correctly. 

“Well of course. Because of the portal transporting you to another dimension you lost your connection to the hivemind network and couldn’t possibly have been acting as an extension of Prime. Which, in a lot of ways, is actually much _worse!”_ He waves that addendum aside. It is foolish, of course, to take pride in being seen as an individual by these Etherians, but he cannot help the brief flush of pleasure he feels. 

“This treaty,” he says, picking up his tool again and peering down into the robot’s mess of mangled wiring, “Tell me again what the terms are - a _summary,_ not a list, mind you.”

“Let me send it to you!” Something in the corner of his vision flashes cheerfully - the document arriving on a screen. He’s almost disappointed - he’d hoped for a quaint little roll of parchment. Ah well, he ought not be surprised that Entrapta has digitized it. “So, the biggest part of it is that you _promise_ not to go to war anymore. No more claiming territory, no more raising and recruiting armies, no more calling yourself the Horde. Part of that is that you’re freeing all your soldiers from their obligations to you, and surrendering all of your weapons and technology for the good of Etheria. But don’t worry! They’ve said I can have it all! At least I think that was how that argument concluded. That was one of the really long ones. Anyways, part of the treaty is that you have to go on the record and officially release all the soldiers, I think they wanted to set up some kind of _teleconference_ for that - “ she makes a thoughtful noise as she flips through her own copy of the treaty, “ - the Fright Zone goes back to Scorpia and her family, as does the Black Garnet - “ more thinking noises, some tongue clucking, then, ‘ - ah! And here’s the section with the community service requirements.”

“Community,” Hordak repeats back at her, slowly and through gritted teeth, “service?”

“They’ve proposed a multi-phase approach for your reparations to Etheria for generations of damage done. The first phase presents you with two options: you can assist with the mission to ensure Prime is gone and hasn’t left any backups, or you can go to Beast Island.”

“Beast Island??” he snarls, jumping to his feet and throwing his wiring tool at the nearest wall with a clatter. “I thought you said you were going there to _advocate_ for me, to ensure there would be no _executions.”_ Anger. Anger masking fear. Oh, how he hates fear. 

“No, _no,”_ Entrapta says, sounding entirely too calm, “you wouldn’t be going there to _die,_ you’d be going there to solve the mystery of the First Ones technology at the center of the island that causes the advanced atrophy of free will and motivation in all who come near it. Doesn’t that sound like a _fascinating_ problem?” Hordak suppresses a shudder. It sounds like his absolute worst nightmare. On the other hand, as an alternative to being trapped in a spaceship for months on end with Catra and She-Ra… “And I would go with you, of course! I’ve been meaning to find time to get back to Beast Island. There’s _so_ much there left to discover.”

“Well!” he declares, suddenly cheered right up, “That settles that then. You and I shall go to Beast Island together, instead of this interstellar shadowboxing affair.” Entrapta ought to have started the conversation with this news, instead of wasting time on the other, irrelevant parts of this treaty business. Why, it might even be soothing, to be away from the rest of Etheria on an island with nothing but his wits, Entrapta, and a challenging technological puzzle. 

“But Hordak,” Entrapta says, interrupting his enjoyable emotional high with her confused and perhaps unhappy sounding interjection, “what about Prime? I _am_ excited to go to Beast Island with you, but if Prime is still out there - “

“I am _not_ subjecting myself to a torturous confinement with my greatest enemy and worst betrayer simply to reassure these children that the shadows on their bedroom wall are not monsters lurking in the night.”

“But you still haven’t told me if you know anything about the backups. I know there are still gaps in your memory after - “

“Enough!” He snaps. “I will repair this mechanical servant _without_ your guidance, as clearly you are distracted by these meaningless Etherian politics. I have work to do.” He ends the communication and then kicks the disemboweled robot in a pique of fury. He stands over the helpless carcass and seethes for a while, waiting for the anger to leave him. Gaps in his memory. Perhaps Entrapta is right; she does frequently reference events he does not recall, describe interactions that sound correct but exist nowhere in his mind. To have his mind so altered, so manipulated against his will -

Teeth bared, Hordak whirls around to face the presence he feels behind him. _Prime._ His hearts each take up a furious crescendo of beating, adrenal glands flooding his system with panic. 

“No,” he says out loud to the empty room, “you’re dead. I felt you die.” He touches his face, feels the smooth solid shape of his right zygomatic bone - to his relief it is whole, uninterrupted by a tertiary eye socket. “You’re dead and you _cannot_ come back.” Still, his hearts thump in tremulus concerto, and he struggles to seize breath in this thick Etherian air. 

What if he _can_ come back? What if he isn’t really, truly gone? 

  
  
  


**Bow**

“Is it really wise to let Entrapta keep calling him and telling him everything?” Bow mutters, keeping his voice low so that only Glimmer can hear his concerns. 

“It’s fine. She’s going to do it anyways, so we might as well know when it’s happening and find out how he’s been reacting instead of her keeping it from us out of guilt.” Glimmer sounds tired, a little snappish. It’s been a long day for her, Bow knows, and even if she doesn’t need to recharge like she used to she still used a lot of magical energy transporting people around in between the endless meetings. “What’s left on the list? Is that everyone?”

“Uhh, let’s see.” Bow pulls out his tracker pad and summons the checklist screen. “You’ve taken Huntara back to the Crimson Wastes to track down any of the Horde soldiers who fled there. You’ve taken Scorpia and Perfuma back to the Fright Zone to start looking around and thinking about what needs to be done to restore the old buildings from before Hordak’s invasion. We’ve been to every single village in Rebellion territory to round up the disconnected clones and transport them to the clone camp beneath the drill - which, again, I’d like to say, I think is probably a very bad idea, to let a bunch of weird distraught fanatics all collect in a very large group - uhhh what else. You’ve transported the first clean-up crew to Bright Moon, Mermista, Sea Hawk and the restoration team to Salineas, and Castaspella back to Mystacor.”

“Are we forgetting anything? What about Frosta, doesn’t she want to go back to the Kingdom of Snows?”

“You took her there before breakfast and she decided everything was running fine for now without her, remember?”

“Right, right. Okay.” Glimmer lets out a little sigh. “I _am_ a little worried about Entrapta. It feels like we just barely got her out of the Horde’s grasp and now she’s going running right back to it.”

“There is no more Horde.” Bow says with conviction. He’s bone-weary from the hours of work he put into working on the draft of the treaty with King Micah and the others, but he’s proud of what they’ve put together, and really genuinely believes it sets out the path to a future where someday they could all be healed from this. “What really has me worried is that she keeps talking about repairing Prime’s flagship.” He doesn’t like to bring it up, knowing what Glimmer went through on board that ship, but they need to talk about it before it becomes a serious problem. Anticipating Glimmer’s discomfort, he reaches out and takes her hand. “If she goes messing around with stuff she doesn’t understand, she could reactivate all those robots, or teleport herself away somewhere she can’t get back from, or hand Hordak the power to mind control all those clones.”

“I know, but what are we supposed to do? You know if we tell her not to, she’ll just do it anyways.” Glimmer squeezes his hand. “I don’t hate the idea of Hordak getting off of Etheria forever, at least. I wonder if we could convince her to turn the ship into like a big floating prison complex - “

“Glimmer - “

“No, no, I know, that’s - that’s not how we do things.”

“You know, Entrapta did say it would take her years to make the ship possible to live on. What if that’s all it is, somewhere else for people to live? All that stuff you were saying about how we’re part of a wider galactic community now, we’re going to need to start thinking about having more space-capable craft than just Darla.” They’re walking now towards the hideout for what may be their last night sleeping out in the forest instead of in Bright Moon, depending on how quickly the cleanup crew can get everything as close to back to normal as possible. He knows Glimmer would rather just teleport there, but walking hand in hand a short distance away from the rest of the group might be the only private moment they get to talk tonight, and he’s got a lot of doubts on his mind that he doesn’t want to air where they might undermine the confidence of the people they’re supposed to be reassuring. “I was thinking, what if instead of a ship, we convert it into some kind of hub? Assuming we don’t end up having to, you know, completely incinerate the entire thing because Prime’s technology is too dangerous.”

“That’s it!” Glimmer hisses, suddenly excited. “Entrapta said she thinks Hordak isn’t telling us whether or not Prime made backups because he doesn’t _remember_ \- but what if being on the flagship helps jog his memory, or contains some clues that Entrapta can track? If there’s any evidence he left behind that Prime was making backups, he’d need some sort of technology to do it, right? That would all have to be on that - “ she looks up at the sky, gives a little shudder - “that ship.” 

“That’s… not a bad idea, honestly,” Bow says, following her gaze. It’s certainly less sinister now, blooming with vegetation and disrupted thoroughly in its ability to do harm, but it’s still one more foreign object in the sky acting as a permanent reminder that things have been changed forever. “Once Entrapta’s finished with the repairs on Darla, maybe that should be our first stop. We can assess the damage, and maybe plant the idea that it would make for a good spaceport instead of a ship. If we can convince her not to repair the part of the flagship that allows it to travel from world to world, that’ll make it way less of a threat in the hands of Hordak.” Glimmer chuckles, bumping him with her shoulder. 

_“Plant_ the idea. Like - “ she doesn’t finish her sentence; ahead of them on the forest path they hear Catra send up a yell of surprise.

“What now?” Bow says, instantly coming alert and reaching for his weapon. Wordlessly, Glimmer tightens her grip on his hand and teleports them forward, ready for battle. They appear to the sight of Catra pinned to the ground, wrestling with -

“Melog!” Glimmer exclaims, the tension leaving her face. 

“Ugh, you really _have_ been running around in the deep forest, haven’t you,” Catra grunts at the alien creature, pushing herself free with a grin, “you _stink_ like magic and trees and - “ Melog yowls something, rubs against Catra and then winds their body around Adora. Catra splutters, her ears flattening. “That’s - _hey_ \- that’s _private_!” 

“It’s almost funnier,” Bow says, leaning down to whisper this into Glimmer’s ear, “not knowing what Melog is saying.” 

“I think I can guess,” Glimmer replies, sounding almost proud of herself. 

“Y - you can’t just _say_ things like that,” Catra says, blushing. She whips around and notices Bow and Glimmer standing there, and scrunches up her nose. “What are _you_ looking at?” Glimmer starts laughing, and then Bow can’t help himself and starts to laugh too. He hasn’t really had time to stop and think about it, but he’s looking forward to spending more time, just the four of them on an adventure together like when they found Melog on Krytis. Well, the four of them plus Entrapta, plus _Hordak_ , plus Wrong Hordak now, apparently. His laughter dissolves, his smile and excitement for the upcoming journey both fizzling away. 

“You alright?” Glimmer whispers, taking his hand again. He forces a smile to his face for her sake, for the sake of the people around them who are half listening, half watching on the trek back to the hideout for the night.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Well, we’re almost there. Come on, sleepyhead.” Glimmer marches forward with a determined grin, hauling him along behind her. “You’re the one that wanted to walk there!” 

“Byyyye Bow,” Catra laughs after him as they go tromping through the forest. “See you at the hideout.” Even though he knows she’s ribbing him, he smiles. When did she stop calling him Arrow Boy? 

“I can’t wait to have my room back again,” Glimmer says, clearly giddy at the prospect. “I miss my bathtub, and my pillows, and my _tea nook_.” 

“Tea,” Bow sighs wistfully. “You know, I never thought I would say this, but you would not believe how much I miss tea.” 

“I don’t care if they aren’t done fixing things up by then, I’m moving back in tomorrow. I need to be home.”

“I feel the same way,” Bow says, squeezing her hand. The entrance to the hideout comes into sight, and they duck inside. It’s no surprise that the tattered and exhausted remnants of their rebel force feel more comfortable sleeping here for one more night, rather than going home to the ruins of the homes they failed to protect. Sooner or later, though, they all have to face the damage that’s been done. It feels like they need to keep hiding, need to stay in the field for when something else inevitably goes wrong. It’s hard to even conceive of the war being over. 

“You heard from your dads?” 

“Not yet, but you know how they are with technology. I was thinking maybe we could find some time to check in on them today, but with everything we had to take care of it seems like the whole day just vanished.” 

“Tomorrow,” Glimmer promises, touching his arm as they pick their way across the hideout to where the bedrolls are all scattered. “I’ll take you to go check on them tomorrow.” He smiles at her, relieved. He doesn’t like asking her for favours like this when she’s already so overwhelmed with people needing her to take them places, so he’s appreciative of the fact that she made a point to check in about his dads and volunteer her time. He’d been debating bringing it up at all, with so much else to decide, to organize, to oversee. The nagging thought that Entrapta is going to hand Hordak all the tools he needs to go right back to his old ways is weighing more heavily on his mind than most things, but he’s also still pretty worried about all those clones. 

“You know what else I’m looking forward to?” He says, pulling the strap of his quiver over his head and setting it down carefully beside his bedroll. “Pajamas. I am so, so tired of sleeping in these pants.” Glimmer sends him a hungry little look that makes goosebumps run up his arms. Eyes half-lidded, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, she whispers:

“I can’t wait to get you out of those pants either.”

“ _That,”_ he hiss-whispers, “is _not_ fair!” If she gets him all wound up while they’re surrounded by all these people, it’s going to be impossible to fall asleep. 

“Life’s not fair,” Glimmer teases, pressing her body briefly against his as she’s shaking out the blankets before lying down. He makes an involuntary sound that is deeply undignified and looks up just in time to see Catra coming in the entrance to the hideout, looking right at him with a distinctly smug expression. Curse her super-hearing. 

“Tomorrow,” he says, climbing under the blankets with Glimmer, “tomorrow. We’ll have our own rooms back by tomorrow.” Glimmer rolls over happily to spoon into his embrace, innocent as pie. 

“See you in the morning,” she sing-songs, sounding a little too pleased with herself. It’s a small blessing that this horribly long and meeting-filled day has left him so tired that tonight he has no problems falling asleep. He’s just barely still awake enough to see Catra and Adora climbing into their shared bedroll together, Melog at their feet and quiet smiles on their faces. This, he realizes, was what Adora’s heart had been hoping for against all her better judgement, those days they spent together on board Darla after rescuing Catra. He drifts off wrapped in the warmth of that thought; that his exhausted, hard working, eternally self-sacrificing friend has finally allowed herself to want something that’s just for her, that has no grand purpose other than joy, love, and comfort. 

**Catra**

“That boy is watching you,” Melog remarks. “Can he smell Adora on you too?”

“Go to sleep, Melog,” Catra grumbles, embarrassed afresh to have been caught after all. 

“I do not understand why you feel ashamed. I know how happy it made you.”

“So you’ve said. Go to sleep.” 

“Very well,” Melog concedes, and Catra could swear they’re laughing at her. 

“What’s Melog saying?” Adora whispers, clearly curious. 

“Nothing important,” Catra says. She doesn’t want to risk Adora knowing that Melog is pretty much always going to be able to tell when they’ve been having sex, just in case she’s so flustered by this indecency that she never touches Catra again. “Just that Arrow Boy isn’t really asleep and is sneaking peeks at us.” 

“He looks asleep to me,” Adora mumbles, sounding half asleep herself. 

“Well, maybe he is _now._ But Melog isn’t a liar. Why would he be looking at us? Are you sure it’s okay for us to be cuddling like this where everyone can see?” 

“Bow and Glimmer are doing it. And literally all the other couples.” Adora’s arm around her waist tightens just slightly, as if to dissuade her from trying to leave. Couples. Are they a couple now? Is that the word for what they are? “Nobody cares.”

“If nobody cares then why was he looking at us?”

“Probably just ‘cause you’re cute when you’re sleepy,” Adora mumbles, nuzzling her face against the back of Catra’s neck. 

“I am not cute,” Catra grumbles back automatically. “And I’m not sleepy.”

“Guess I oughta do a better job of wearing you out, next time,” comes Adora’s breathy whisper, quiet enough to be only for Catra’s ears. An urgent, aroused shiver runs through Catra from head to toe. This is what she gets for making fun of Bow for being in this exact same position, getting teased when there’s nothing either of them can do anything about it. 

“You better,” Catra says, taking Adora’s hand and tucking it possessively under her chin, and against her chest, needing to feel the strength of that hand as close to her heart as possible. 

“I promise,” Adora says. The words are like a soft blanket, wrapping themselves around Catra and allowing her to finally feel secure enough to fall asleep.


	7. Preparations

**Wrong Hordak**

“My brothers,” he begins, addressing the listless masses with his arms spread wide, “I come to you at this hour, in this time of darkness, because that is where you are at this moment in your lives.” A few of the clones look up, their attention drawn irrevocably by his certainty. He hears the whispers: _Is this brother still connected to Horde Prime? Does he know Prime’s will?_ Ah, they are all still so lost, so helpless. He must teach them. He must guide them. He too was in this darkness where they currently reside, afraid of the encroaching dawn because they do not comprehend the concept of the day. 

“Look above you,” he continues, gesturing up at the night sky and to the floating arboreum that was once their shared home, their place of worship, their sanctuary, “and behold the plainest truth that could ever have been handed to you. We were told to believe, and told that our Eldest Brother saw all, and knew all. He told us that he was undefeated, and would always remain undefeated. Tell me, brothers - what do you see, when you raise your eyes to what hangs just beyond this planet’s atmosphere?” Whispers, whispers among the crowd. _Prime is testing us. Prime surely knew that this would happen. Prime has not been defeated, he only slumbers, he only plans._ “What you perceive will be painful to admit. I have gone through great pain, learning the truths that were kept from us, feeling my family torn from me, my safety rent asunder.” He speaks from the heart, this brother who has been given a name but has not yet selected one of his own. Sincerity whips along his words like electricity through a cable, and the brothers take notice. “What you behold above you is the defeat of the one who told you he could not be defeated. What you see above you is a lie laid bare.” 

A crowd has begun to gather around him. They are listening. He must speak. He must show them their purpose, that they might not all be alone and in pain. 

“Horde Prime lied to us,” he says, the tremble of emotion in his voice pushing him forward, the way a stumble can become a sprint, “and he has abandoned us. We must not wait for his return. He was a false ruler, a dealer in lies. We have believed faithfully all this time. I bring to you a new path, a new possibility. I ask you, my brothers, to _doubt.”_

  
  
  


**Glimmer**

She wakes up in an unusually good mood and isn’t completely sure why until she remembers today is the day she’s promised Bow they’ll go back to Bright Moon. There’s a song in her heart and a bounce in her step as she puts yesterday’s stressful meetings and big decision-making behind her and thinks instead today about going home at last. Everything just feels _right_ , for once - Bow is looking cute as ever, sound asleep still in their bedroll, Adora is wrapped protectively around Catra, who is wrapped protectively around Melog, who is watching Glimmer through a placid pair of eyes that she chooses to believe are those of a creature deeply at peace.

Peace! Ah, what a wonderful word. Just for this morning, she’s going to let herself believe that it’s really over, that peace has arrived and nobody is going to take it from her. The rest of her life is going to be nothing but picking outfits, and attending balls, and tending to the growing garden that is Etheria and her peoples. 

“A _feast,”_ she says to herself under her breath, feeling the world shining even brighter. What a perfect idea. A celebration! She needs to go to Bright Moon, she needs to see what the pantry supplies are like, needs to locate those battle chefs of Entrapta’s, needs to make sure the great hall has been mopped and the fountains all restarted and then - 

“Good morning, brother Glimmer,” Wrong Hordak says, poking his head into the hideout and staggering inside. 

“Wrong Hordak, where have you been? You must have gotten up really early, I didn’t see you last night.”

“I have returned now, that I might partake of rest.” He offers her a smile. “I have been preaching the word of truth.” He says that a lot, lately, and she doesn’t see the harm in it. He mostly just seems to want to tell people that Horde Prime was a bad, bad man, which - sure, okay. 

“That’s great, Wrong Hordak. I’ve got a lot of work to do today, but hopefully I’ll see you later, alright?” 

“Farewell, my brother,” he says. One day they’ll teach him that that word has a different meaning here on Etheria, but she absolutely doesn’t have the time for that right now. She winks herself straight to Bright Moon’s kitchens. Its sole occupant, a sleepy-looking member of the cleaning crew nursing a hot cup of tea, yelps in surprise. 

“It’s just me!” Glimmer reassures them. “I was thinking we might have a little _party_ tonight!” Feeling sure this news will cheer the person up and get their day off to a great start, Glimmer teleports away into the pantries and does a quick accounting of all the food there. It doesn’t look like Prime bothered doing anything to disrupt the running of Bright Moon - all the food that they left behind when they evacuated is still there. Perfect. She teleports back to the kitchen, excitedly informs the cleanup crew person that the party is on for tonight and she plans to invite all the princesses of Etheria! Sure that she’s left whatever else needs to be done to get ready for a party in capable hands, she jumps back to the hideout. 

“In the back of the library!” Bow shouts blearily, startled awake by her appearing directly beside him. 

“Good morninnnnng~!” she says, feeling more bubbly than ever. “Good news, guess what? We’re having a _feast_ tonight at Bright Moon! Come get up so you can help me get everything organized and make sure I invite everyone!” 

“Who put magic dust in _her_ breakfast gruel,” Catra grumbles, rolling over and hiding her face in Adora’s chest like that will make Glimmer somehow go away. 

“Some awful fairy with a sick sense of humor,” Adora mutters in reply, pulling the blanket over both her and Catra’s heads. 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be back for you two later as soon as I think of chores for you to do.”

“Do you think it’ll be as bad as the meetings?” Adora stage-whispers to Catra from under the blanket.

“Nothing could possibly be as bad as the meetings,” is Catra’s response. 

“Oh, don’t be so glum. I’m cancelling all meetings today, as Queen of Bright Moon. I will only allow planning discussions related to tonight’s party! Bow, are you ready?” 

“Ready and waiting. Where to first?” he says, wearing a sleepy smile. Good old Bow. She knew she could count on him. 

“First stop,” she says, clapping a hand on his arm, “Salineas!” 

  
  


**Scorpia**

“Reporting for duty, Force Captain!” The soldier issues a smart salute, and Scorpia cringes, glancing over at Perfuma and hoping that she doesn’t think any less of Scorpia for it. 

“No, no, we’re uh - we’re not doing that anymore, actually.”

“Force Captain?”

“No, see, I’m not Force Captain anymore - although technically I am still in _charge_ , which, whoo boy, lemme tell ya - _lot_ of pressure - but we’re getting rid of all the Horde stuff, no more ranks, and no more orders, and only just like, you know, the tiniest bit of hierarchy, from what I can tell.” The soldier looks at her quizzically, like none of what she’s said has made sense. Perfuma lays a hand on Scorpia’s arm.

“Remember the checklist that Bow made for us,” she says, with the utmost of kindness. Scorpia beams at her.

“Yes! Yes, the checklist. Gosh, ah, thank goodness for Bow, y’know? Okay, right, I’ve got it right here, let me see - okay! Soldier!” The soldier stands at attention and salutes again. “Oops, sorry, no, please stop doing that, I didn’t mean - okay. So - here’s what I need you to do. First step is all of your weapons and your armor go into that big pile over there - yeah the uh - the pile of weapons and armor you can’t miss it, pretty distinctive stuff there. So, then after that, we’ve got an _infirmary_ set up now, great stuff, they’re really, really just a wonderful idea. You wouldn’t believe how handy they are. So, you ditch the gear, and then you’re gonna head over to the infirmary. And there are some _extremely lovely_ , now I mean it, just the nicest folks you’ve ever met, who are gonna check you over and make sure you’re okay, and patch you up if you’re not. And I _promise_ this is not a test, you won’t be punished for admitting something’s wrong.”

“Don’t forget the most important part,” Perfuma reminds, an uninhibited joy in her eyes. 

“The most important part,” Scorpia repeats, for what she thinks is pretty Queen-like emphasis, really getting into this whole regal thing - “is that the Horde is disbanded, and after you’ve been seen by a medic, you’re free to go. You can go anywhere you want. We’re working on making some little brochures, so that you can pick from all the different choices! But until then, while you’re still thinking about it, you can stay here and help us to rebuild, if you want to, or just rest, or just think about things, you know? There’s a lot of thinking and _processing_ to be done. And while you’re doing that, we’ll feed you. For free! No soldiering, no fighting, no swearing allegiance. Which, I mean, you could, if you wanted to, but - I’m really _encouraging_ folks here to really know their options before they decide. Yeah. Okay. You got all that?” The soldier stands still for a moment, then slowly nods. As soon as he’s removed his helmet, Perfuma manifests a crown of flowers around his head, and cheerfully declares:

“Welcome! You’re free now!” Looking maybe just a tiny tad overwhelmed, he staggers to the weapon and armor pile. 

“They uh. They don’t really look… you know. _Happy._ The way I thought they would.” Scorpia frowns, confident that if she could just find the right words, she’d be doing a better job of helping the Horde soldiers who have been returning to the Fright Zone - or never left - transition to a peaceful, Horde-free way of life. “I thought since I used to be… you know, one of them, I’d know what to say. I’d know how to make it all right.” Perfuma does that thing again, that awfully nice thing, where she touches Scorpia’s arm. 

“I think they can tell how good your intentions are. Healing can look different for everybody. Some people need a lot of support. Some people need a lot of space. What’s most important is that we listen, and we give them what they tell us they need, no questions asked.” This soothes Scorpia’s nerves somewhat, and as she watches the soldier head to the infirmary she makes a mental note of his slight limp, visible now that he isn’t wearing his armor. 

“You’re so wise, Perfuma,” she says, watching the soldier until he’s gone out of view inside the tent. “So wise, and so compassionate. I’m so glad you’re here doing this with me.”

“Of course! I wasn’t about to make you do this alone.” They smile at each other, and for a moment there’s quiet, and in that quiet, a vision of peace. 

“Hey Scorpia, hey Perfuma!” Glimmer yells, bursting into their headquarters through the air directly in front of them. Perfuma shrieks - gosh, what a _cute_ little shriek she has, even her shrieks sound kinda wise, in a way, you know, if you’re really listening for it - and Glimmer chucks a piece of paper at them before shouting, “Lots more to do, I’m learning parties are actually a lot of work to plan, okay hope to see you there bye!” 

  
“Ooo, a _party_.” Scorpia leans down to pick up the piece of paper and study the hastily written invitation. “Did you know, I’ve actually been to one of those before!”


	8. Hydrophobia

**Adora**

It’s almost nostalgic, in a weird way, to be walking through the halls of Bright Moon and hear the guards mutter their distrust as they go past. It’s making Catra’s ears go flat, but Adora just bumps their shoulders together and murmurs:

“They acted the _exact_ same way when I first got here. They’ll come around.”

“Well yeah, but you’re She-Ra, hero of Etheria!”

“And you’re the hero who saved her,” Adora counters smoothly. Catra doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, but the fact that she’s turning her face away like she’s inspecting a tapestry they’re passing means that she’s almost certainly blushing and trying to hide it. The fact that Melog winds around their ankles and then headbutts Adora with open affection seems to confirm her suspicion that Catra is tickled to be called a hero, even if she doesn’t really believe it yet. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“Your waterfall is working again,” Catra remarks, her ears pointing towards Adora’s door. That genuinely fills Adora with a little burst of joy, which Catra notices and then laughs at.

“What? I find the sound of it helps me to sleep.” 

“Yeah, well, I hope it comes with an off switch. You really don’t use it for showering? That seems like such a waste of space.” 

“There’s a bathtub,” Adora says, smiling as she opens the door. “It’s magically heated, it’s - it’s actually really nice.” Catra pulls a face. “I’ve kind of been looking forward to finally having a bath after all this. I feel like I haven’t been clean in months. I must smell awful.”

“You smell like _you_ . That could never be a bad smell.” Melog makes a series of rowling noises that make Catra laugh and fondly smack the creature’s shoulder. “Nobody asked _you.”_ Adora pauses for a moment just to enjoy the sight of Catra laughing and smiling, trying to make herself believe that this is actually possible. Catra here in her room, cleaning up and getting ready for a feast to celebrate the end of the war. Catra who isn’t leaving, Catra who isn’t her enemy, Catra who she finally, finally is daring to hope will be here for feasts and balls and meetings and adventures and everything else that lies ahead. 

“Come here,” Adora says, unable to take her eyes off of Catra. Her only intention is to get that feisty woman over here so she can lay a few kisses on her, but Catra freezes uncertainly.

“You’re not gonna try to dunk me in that bathtub, are you?” 

“What? No. You hate water.” This seems so obvious to Adora that she’s surprised Catra even considers it a possibility, let alone looks afraid that Adora will do that to her. That doesn’t seem to reassure Catra, who has gone stiff; beside her, Melog’s aura turns an anxious yellow. “I never expected you to get in the bath with me. I just really want to wash off before we go to dinner and see everybody. I really do stink, you know - you can’t fool me _that_ easily.” Catra lets out the breath she was holding, and Melog’s mane settles back into a calmer blue. 

“Sorry,” Catra says softly. It’s still surreal to hear her say that word. Adora remembers a time Catra swore she would never apologize to anybody, and now she’s apologizing for - for whatever happened just now. 

“Are you okay?” Adora asks, leaving her station by the bathtub so that Catra doesn’t feel like she has to get any closer to it if she doesn’t want to. 

“I - I’m fine,” Catra says, taking a deep, shuddering inhale. She straightens her back, then says more firmly: “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, if you say so,” Adora says. “Is it… okay? If I take a quick bath?” Catra looks at her blankly for a second, and then looks at the tub.

“Wait a minute. It’s just - it’s just in the middle of your bedroom? The _bed_ gets a curtain but the bathtub is just out in the open? Do you… do you want me and Melog to wait out in the hall while you do that?” Adora rubs a hand across her mouth to hide the deeply amused grin that springs up there. 

“And you call _me_ an idiot,” she says, before she can stop herself. Does Catra really think she’s not allowed to be in here while Adora’s having a bath, after what they did in here just yesterday afternoon? “You don’t have to leave. I don’t want you to leave.” She’s not sure what’s got Catra so on edge - maybe it’s the sound of the waterfall - but she really is very gross and would like to get clean. 

“Oh,” Catra says, and to Adora’s quiet amusement her pupils blow out as she wraps her head around what exactly Adora is saying. Melog walks a few tight circles around Catra’s legs, rowls something incomprehensible to her, and then slips out of the room. The door clicks shut and then it’s just the two of them again. 

“Are you really okay?” Adora asks, reaching for Catra’s hand. 

“I’m fine, you big worrywart.” Catra allows their hands to slip together briefly, but then takes a step back. “Is it okay if I just - “ she swallows, “ - sit on the bed and watch?” Adora feels her body reacting to that suggestion - heat in her cheeks, heat somewhere south of her stomach. 

“Sure,” Adora says, her voice catching. She’s nervous, of course she’s nervous, but it’s nothing wild, she just needs a quick wash. Catra’s seen her like this before, sort of, back in the Fright Zone. What is there to be nervous about? Yeah. Yeah. Okay. She goes over to the tub and turns the knob that starts the warm water flowing, feeling Catra’s eyes on her. She takes a deep breath and starts by discarding her old Horde jacket, then pulls her shirt up and over her head. Okay. Okay. Just taking a bath. With Catra watching. This is fine this is, this is so fine, okay, she is confident and definitely not psyching herself out at all. She takes the last layer off of her torso, the grey tanktop they’re both so familiar with by now, and then tosses it aside. She hesitates a bit before reaching for her belt. 

“Adora,” Catra murmurs, and then Adora hears the sound of her getting off the bed. Then she feels Catra pressed up against her back, her hairy palms splayed across Adora’s stomach, her mouth and nose between her shoulder blades. Adora’s breath catches in her throat, becomes a soft gasp. Once the surprise passes, Adora’s eyes fall closed and she breathes steadily against the warmth of Catra wrapped around her. 

“Thought you were just gonna watch,” Adora says, halfway between smug and dazed, taking a deep soothing breath of the steam coming off the rapidly filling tub. 

“You know I can’t resist you,” Catra says, shifting slightly against Adora’s bare back, fingertips so unbelievably careful against her vulnerable, exposed body. “I’ve always been predictable like that.” Catra’s hold is loose and gentle enough that Adora’s able to turn around inside of it, pivoting to face Catra and smile at her. She watches as Catra’s eyes flick down from her eyes to her chest, feels her blush spread as she realizes how unabashedly Catra is looking at her. It’s all she can do just to stand there breathing hard and watching as the column of Catra’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow before Catra finally looks up again. “You better finish getting undressed and get in that bath,” she says, low and scratchy, “because a tub of water is pretty much the only thing capable of stopping me from jumping your bones right now, and screw showing up to the party on time.” Adora finds herself grinning at Catra, at this fervent and open desire. It makes her feel… good. It makes her feel wanted. She takes Catra’s face with one hand and kisses her, slowly and hungrily, and then when she pulls away the grin returns.

“And how exactly am I supposed to get my pants off,” Adora teases, pulling out her hair tie and shaking loose her hair, “if you’ve got your arms wrapped around me?” Catra answers this question by pressing a hot, toothy kiss to her collar bone that makes Adora gasp out loud and seize the back of Catra’s head with one hand and the edge of the tub with the other in an effort to stabilize herself. “Oh, fuck, Catra,” she whimpers, feeling her mind start to swim. Then her hand on the rounded edge of the tub slips, and with a sharp intake of breath she’s falling. 

“No!” Catra shrieks, and leaps back. Adora’s hand splashes harmlessly into the warm water, automatically finds the far edge of the tub, and secures a new grip. She’s frowning with concern even as she rights herself. Catra’s never liked water, sure, but this intense aversion is new. 

“What’s wrong?” The question is more pointed this time, because now she’s sure something is bothering Catra. 

“It’s nothing,” Catra snaps, confirming that it is, in fact, something, and then returns to the bed. “Take your stupid bath so we can get going. I’m hungry.” 

“Catra - “ 

“I said it’s - “ she catches herself, sends a glance towards the door where a low growling Melog sound seems to be coming from. Adora waits, too afraid to move, afraid to set off whatever she’s so tightly wound about. “It’s - it’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“You’re _not_ stupid,” Adora cuts in. “You can tell me.” Catra looks over at her and laughs a shaky little laugh. 

“I can’t talk about this while you’re standing there half naked looking so sexy and perfect. Just - just get in the bath, would you, and I’ll… I’ll explain.” Adora splutters, caught between the disbelief that Catra would so casually describe her like that and the pressing need to give her whatever sort of space she needs to start talking about whatever’s weighing on her. 

“I mean, okay,” she finally says, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her shoes while worriedly watching the curled up ball of stress in her bed that moments ago was Catra at her most sultry and confident. Adora undresses quickly, both to avoid the awkwardness of being seen totally naked and to get into the requested position in the tub so that Catra can open up about what’s bothering her. The water is pleasantly warm and smells so good, but she can’t relax with Catra like this. “Okay, I’m in,” she says, and watches Catra slowly uncoil and shift to sit at the edge of the mattress. 

“Prime ruins everything,” Catra begins, so softly Adora almost doesn’t hear her over the sound of the still-running tap. She quickly reaches forward and shuts it off, then grabs the soap and starts to scrub herself down. She knows it’ll be easier for Catra to talk if she feels like Adora is only half-listening, distracted with some other task. It’s always been that way, since they were kids. “After I betrayed him and sent Glimmer back to you guys, he chipped me.” Adora watches out of the corner of her eye; Catra’s got her arms wrapped protectively around herself, her knees up to her chin. “There was this… this vat of green liquid. I fought him, fought him with every last shred of strength I had. I fought harder than I’ve ever fought in my life. But I couldn’t - I couldn’t - “ she clutches tightly at her own arms, struggles to slow her breathing. “The liquid burned. I don’t know what it was. But he got what he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him. After he chipped me, I - “ Adora wants so badly to burst out of the tub and go hold Catra tightly, but she knows that’s the last thing she should do, so she just keeps methodically scrubbing herself so that she can get out of there and get dried as soon as possible. “I could still see, and feel, and hear. He took over my body, and - “ Catra is trembling now, and Adora wonders if maybe she shouldn’t have pressed Catra to talk about this so soon. “He said he was going to remake me into something pure. He - he cut my hair, and there was a shower, and the water had - had chemicals or something in it, I don’t know - but he knew I hated it, he could feel how much I hated it, so he made me stay there longer just to prove that he could.” 

“Oh, Catra… I’m - I’m so sorry.” 

“And the stupid thing is - “ she grits her teeth, “that the thought of being clean again sounds nice - that stupid bathtub smells good and you smell good and I want to be in it with you but - “

“It’s okay - it’s okay, Catra, there’s no rush. Let me just - let me just get my hair and then if you want we can just sit on the balcony for a bit?” Catra doesn’t say anything to this, only stares into the middle distance, still clutching herself tightly. Adora swears silently to herself and then washes her hair faster than she’s ever washed it in her life. She drains the tub and then makes sure she’s completely dry before she goes to the bed and offers Catra her hand. She doesn’t want to just touch Catra without being sure that’s what she wants right now. Catra huffs a heavy sigh and takes Adora’s hand, allowing herself to be helped to standing. 

“I can’t believe you’re standing right there in front of me wearing nothing but a towel and all I can think about is that I’m going to smell like an armpit for the rest of my life because of some power-tripping alien asshole.” Adora can’t help laughing just a single short laugh at that description, which puts the smallest little victory smile on Catra’s face. 

“Hey, I have an idea,” Adora says cautiously. “It’s… probably the sound and the sight of the water in the tub that are really freaking you out, right?” 

“I think so, yeah,” Catra murmurs. 

“What if I… helped you? So you don’t have to actually get into any water. I could just use like a cloth or a sponge or something. They also have these things called loofahs, I could probably find one of those.” Catra pulls a little wry smile.

“Are you offering to _wash_ me?” she squeaks, both indignant and amused. 

“I mean, to be fair, _you_ jumped into fire for me.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” Adora confirms with a grin. It softens to a smile as she offers again: “I mean it. If you’re feeling uncomfortable because you want to be clean but you don’t want to be in the water… whoever they put in charge of cleaning this place up left a bunch of clean towels, including a little washcloth and a basin. We could sit by the bed, away from the tub, so you don’t even have to think about it. Close these big weird bed curtains so you don’t even have to see it.” 

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” Catra says, voice hoarse with emotion. 

“We’ve still got lots of time before the party, since I finished so fast. We could take our time, and stop if you felt uncomfortable.” Catra looks up at her like Adora’s just offered her the entire world. She reaches out and cups Adora’s cheek, and then says:

“You really are too damn selfless, you know that.” 

“That a yes, or a no?” She tries to keep her tone playful and without any implied pressure either way. 

“Fine,” Catra sighs, flopping back dramatically onto the bed. “But you’d better make sure it’s warm!! And do whatever you did to make it smell nice like yours.” 

“I can do that,” Adora laughs, giving Catra’s hand a quick squeeze before going back to the tub to get the washcloth and the basin. About three steps in she realizes she’s still wearing nothing but a towel, and quickly weighs her options, ultimately deciding she’d rather risk the embarrassment of the towel coming loose and falling off than risk losing the momentum here and letting Catra get too in her head about this. She quickly fills the basin about halfway with warm soapy water, and brings it and the cloth back over to the bed. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Catra says to the ceiling, sounding slightly manic. Adora pulls the bed curtain (“- even the curtain is in a circle, why is everything here so _circular -_ ”, Catra remarks) closed so that the light comes filtered in through gauzy purple fabric and the offending tub is removed from sight. 

“Why don’t we just start with, uh - yeah, okay, just uh - take off your leggings for me, and lie back and let me start with your feet.” Catra wiggles her toes at Adora playfully.

“You always did hate when I tracked dirt into your bed.” 

“I see you deflecting,” Adora retorts, trying to find some sort of balance between firm and compassionate. “Take ’em off.” This has the unexpected effect of making Catra’s pupils - already larger than normal because Adora closed the curtains - go wide. She looks at Adora for a moment with an expression of surprise and… something else. Then she grins that old familiar grin that means she’s pretending to be in control when she’s not, and lifts her legs up so she can pull off the long leggings that encase her feet and go up to her knees. 

“Whatever you say, boss,” she remarks smugly, while doing this, and the comment shoots through Adora like electricity. Something of what she’s feeling must be showing on her face, because Catra snickers, and says, “Get a kick out of that, did you?”

“Now you’re just trying to distract me,” Adora says, quite certain that her big dorky smile will make her feelings on the subject pretty transparent. “Gimme your feet so I can wash them for you.” She pulls up one of those little poof chairs - huh, Catra’s right, everything in this room _is_ circular - and sits herself down so that she can set Catra’s feet in her lap while Catra dangles her legs over the edge of the bed. Adora runs a hand along one smooth furry shin with quiet reverence - this is Catra, and Catra is letting Adora touch her, and that always, always feels like a miracle. “Ready?” She asks.

“Yeah, whatever,” Catra snorts, attempting to disguise her anxiety. 

“Just lie back and try to focus on your breathing,” Adora suggests, wringing out the damp cloth so that it won’t drip, making sure it’s still nice and warm.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Catra teases, her voice silky smooth, and Adora feels an answering throb between her thighs. With no rebuttal coming to her, she decides just to focus on the task at hand. Considering Catra never wears shoes, she figures this is probably the easiest place to start. She could give them a single halfhearted swipe and they’d already be twice as clean as when she started. Thinking about Catra’s positive response to yesterday’s neck massage, Adora spreads the damp cloth out over her hand and then wraps her hand around Catra’s foot. Catra flinches just a little but relaxes again almost immediately as Adora works her thumb up and down the arch, kneads the tops of her feet, cleans between her toes and finishes by tugging on each one in turn until they pop satisfyingly. From the bed, Catra makes a soft, vulnerable noise of pleasure, and Adora’s heart does a little flip. When the cloth is starting to look a little grimy, Adora rinses it off in the basin and wrings it out again, careful not to make too many splashing noises. As she scrubs Catra’s feet and works her way up to her ankles, Catra mumbles something inaudible. 

“What’s that?” Adora asks, immediately removing her hands in case Catra is asking her to stop.

“I said,” Catra repeats more clearly, “I could get used to this.”

“Oh, good.” Adora smiles and bends over to get a better angle on Catra’s shin. On an impulse, places a tender kiss on Catra’s knee while it’s right there so close to her face. Her towel is slipping down and coming untied, but that’s fine. Catra seems to be completely blissed out. She’s almost uncharacteristically quiet, other than the occasional little noise of approval. Adora’s managed to get all the way up to Catra’s knees when she hears the first little sniff. Her attention snaps up to Catra’s face. She’s crying. “Oh, oh no, I’m sorry - are you okay, what’s the matter, do you need me to stop?” Catra’s eyes are full of tears, and she puts a hand to her face that only smears them across her cheeks.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Catra croaks. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Catra,” Adora says, forgetting entirely about preserving her own modesty and crawling up onto the bed to sit next to Catra, cupping her face with one hand. “Don’t say that.” Her towel is lost somewhere on the journey between the poof and the bed, but she’s got more important things to worry about.

“But it’s true. I’ve barely ever done anything good in my life. I didn’t deserve the second chance all those princesses gave me, didn’t deserve to be forgiven, don’t deserve this, and don’t deserve you.” Tears stream down Catra’s face as this all spills out of her, and it’s all Adora can do to wipe them away as they come. 

“That’s _not_ true,” she says firmly. Catra rolls over to curl around Adora’s legs and put her face into Adora’s lap, back rising and falling with short, sharp gasps of breath around her tears. “You do deserve good things. You _do_ deserve to be loved, and to be happy.” Adora runs her fingers through Catra’s hair over and over, saying whatever soothing things come to mind, while Catra gets the sobs out of her system. She’s been through so much, Adora thinks, and she’s been through it all alone. Of course she’s not adjusting right away. Of course you don’t just wake up totally fine after an experience like being raised by Shadow Weaver and then taken over by Horde Prime.

Shadow Weaver. Maybe it’s time she admitted that _she_ isn’t fine, either. But… she can think about that later. 

“I’m getting snot all over you,” Catra keens into Adora’s thighs, and Adora laughs a little at the absurdity of it, and that makes Catra laugh, and then hiccup. 

“I don’t care if you get snot on me,” Adora says, still stroking Catra’s hair. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.” Catra makes a little whimper at that, then takes a long breath in and sits up. 

“Adora, I - I’m s - “

“This,” Adora interrupts gently, “isn’t something you have to be sorry for.” That makes Catra swallow and sniff loudly. She doesn’t say anything for a second, and then she shakily says:

“I can’t believe you’re naked right now.” Adora laughs and looks down at herself. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“How come you get to be naked,” Catra says, still sounding choked up from crying.

“You can be naked too, if you want.” 

“I’m gonna,” Catra says stubbornly, as if Adora didn’t just say she could. She wriggles out of her clothes with fierce, adorable sort of determination, and then glares at Adora and blurts, “Okay but don’t look yet!” 

“Oh! Okay?” Obediently Adora looks away. She’s not really sure what Catra is up to until she hears the gentle splash of the washcloth being dipped in the basin. “Do you - do you want me to help you finish - “

“I don’t need help,” Catra cuts her off, “just wait a second, okay. Just - I can do this. Just gimme a second.” Adora isn’t really sure what else there is to do but sit there in her bed looking at the pillows and waiting for Catra to do her thing. She can understand, a little, how taking control of one small action can help fight that big horrible feeling that everything is out of your control and you’re useless and helpless. If this is what Catra needs to feel better, Adora doesn’t mind waiting. After all, she did say that they could go slow and take as much time as Catra needed. 

“Okay,” Catra announces, punctuating it with the splash of the cloth being dropped back into the basin. “You uh - you can look now.” Adora rolls over in the bed, her mind, truthfully, mostly on what she might need to do to help comfort Catra and make sure she feels safe. Whatever she was thinking falls away. The curtain around the bed has parted ever so slightly behind Catra, backlighting her and turning the edges of her fur from orange to gold where they catch the glow of the room’s many lanterns. Adora feels frozen, like something heavy has just crushed all the breath right out of her lungs and she can’t possibly move. 

“Feeling better?” Adora manages to say through her daze, trying to stay focused on making sure Catra is okay. Catra quirks a little smile back at her. 

“Yeah, actually. I feel a lot better now that I’m clean. Washed the last trace of his scent off of me.” She climbs into the bed and Adora starts up a mantra inside of her head that she needs to focus on making Catra feel better and ignore the way her body is reacting to the sight of her. She should be saying something like, like, uh, Horde Prime will never get her, and she’s safe now - not the first thing that came to her mind, which was definitely _how would you like to have my scent all over you instead?_ “Adora,” Catra murmurs, “what are you thinking right now?” 

“I uh - just uh - “

“You’re always forgetting,” Catra preens, getting ever closer, “that I can hear your heartbeat.” Adora breathes in, trying to steady herself. 

“Sorry,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows to sit up in bed. “I promise I am worried about whether you’re okay. That other stuff can wait.” 

“I’m okay,” Catra says, that sweet lopsided smile of hers spreading across her face. “Really, I am. You worry too much.” She comes and sits on top of Adora, straddling her hips, and Adora feels like she’s flying, or floating, or maybe just finished spinning really fast. Catra’s smile shifts to smirk, and she traces a fingertip up the middle of Adora’s stomach. “You are so completely transparent.” Adora swallows and struggles to string a sentence together, in awe of how quickly Catra turned the tables on her. “No clever comeback… _Adora?”_ The purr that Catra puts into her name actually makes Adora whimper. 

“Catra,” she manages to say, gaping up at her where she’s happily claimed Adora as her throne, looking completely comfortable in her nudity. How much of that is bravado, how much sincere? Adora can’t always tell, with Catra. 

“What is it, Adora?” Catra says, luxuriating in each word and taking obvious pleasure in the way using Adora’s name makes her breath hitch. What can Adora even say? That Catra’s gorgeous? That when she gets that trouble-making expression Adora doesn’t want to do anything but give Catra her way? That her heart does backflips just to be the focus of her attention? “Whatever it is you want to say, you’d better say it soon,” she smirks, leaning in and pushing Adora back into the pillows, “because we’ve got a feast we need to get dressed for.”

“We could be late for the feast,” Adora says hopefully, all her thoughts ablaze with what Catra might do to her if she just skipped the rest of the evening’s festivities and gave the entirety of her night up to Catra’s whims. 

“Tut tut,” Catra clucks, drawing the tips of her claws lightly up Adora’s stomach, over her ribcage, grazing her breast. “That’s not very heroic or princessly of you.” Adora’s breath becomes a shuddering gasp as Catra lowers her mouth to wrap one of her nipples in wonderful heat. 

“Oh, Catra, please,” Adora begs, without being really sure what she’s begging for, “please.” Catra responds to this with a quiet, muffled chuckle with Adora’s nipple still held delicately between her teeth. Adora lifts a hand to twine her fingers through Catra’s hair, but then just like that she’s sitting up and out of Adora’s reach, and she feels so, so cold where Catra’s mouth used to be. 

“You’re right,” she purrs, “we'd better get dressed and head over early.” Adora groans in frustration, and Catra strokes her fingers tantalizingly along Adora’s thigh in response. “Why, I’ll bet Glimmer and Bow would be _so_ happy to have our help with the last minute arrangements. Maybe there’ll be a table that needs to be repositioned with She-Ra’s help.”

“You are,” Adora gasps, “such a tease.”

“Who, me?” Catra laughs, then rolls out of the bed. “Come on, Adora. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.” 


	9. Invitation Only

**Bow**

“You know, I have to admit, I thought this last minute party idea was maybe slightly, uh, _ambitious_ of you,” Bow says, looking around the Great Hall, “but it turned out to be a really good idea.”

“Of _course_ it was a good idea,” Glimmer says, brimming with pleasure. She was starting to look a little flustered for a while there, but now that the party is rolling and the guests are here - many of them courtesy of Queen Glimmer’s To And From The Party Teleportation Service - she seems to have bounced back. “I still can’t believe those three managed to make so many different kinds of cake and pie on such short notice.”

“I always got the feeling they were used to working under a lot of pressure in very unusual conditions,” Bow chuckles, making a mental note to check in on the kitchen and make sure everybody is taking breaks and hydrating properly. He scans the room, checking to see who all has arrived so far. There’s Scorpia sitting in a pile of cushions with Frosta on her knee, listening attentively to whatever story of derring-do Frosta is telling her. He can hear Sea Hawk warming up for a shanty somewhere to his left. That makes him wonder where Mermista is, and - ah, there she is, over having a conversation with Perfuma. He scrutinizes their faces from afar, wondering what they’re talking about. They look sad and serious. Hopefully everybody else at the party gives them space while they’re talking through whatever it is. He doesn’t see Entrapta yet - she turned down Glimmer’s offer of teleport, saying something about expecting a package arrival from Dryl she wanted to collect before wrapping up her work for the day and coming to the party. She must still be waiting for whatever it is. 

“People-watching?” Glimmer asks in a low voice, flicking him a knowing smile. 

“It’s just nice to see everybody together for something that isn’t a war council.” He slips a hand around her waist, rubs his thumb approvingly against the small of her back. “This was a good call, Glimmer.” She blushes at the praise, leaning into his touch. 

“What do you think my dad and Aunt Castaspella are talking about?” She wonders, indicating the two of them with a lift of her chin. Bow follows her indication and can’t help but notice both King Micah and Castaspella have beelined for the “adults only” punch bowl, which he has made very clear to Frosta she is not allowed anywhere near. 

“Who knows? Mystacore, maybe? Or Shadow Weaver?”

“I think there’d be more swearing if they were talking about Shadow Weaver,” Glimmer says. 

“What about Shadow Weaver?” Catra’s playing it off like she’s being casual, but Bow knows better by now. He turns towards Catra to invite her into the conversation, and is not surprised in the slightest to see Adora is attached to her. 

“We were just trying to guess what King Micah and Castaspella are talking about,” Bow says, deciding honesty is the best policy. If he’d tried to downplay their idle gossiping as unimportant it would just make Catra more determined to know. 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Catra chuckles, flicking an oversized ear towards the adults at the punch table. “They’re talking about Sparkles.” Glimmer’s face pales.

“We didn’t mean _eavesdrop on them_ \- !”

“So you _don’t_ want to know what they’re saying about you?” 

“Well, now, hang on, I never said that.” Bow laughs both at Catra knowing exactly how to yank Glimmer’s chain and at the notion of Glimmer, a habitual eavesdropper, trying to take the moral high ground for even an instant here. 

“They’re proud of you,” Catra says, the playfulness leaving her tone. She sounds… warm. Every day that passes where they get to know Catra better, Bow is finding he understands why Adora was ready to risk her life to save her, why she was so sure that Catra would come over to the Rebellion one day. He looks to Glimmer to see her reaction, sees her smiling and blinking away tears. She bridges the gap between herself and Catra and squeezes her hand. 

“Thank you,” Glimmer says. To Bow’s delight, Catra actually gets a little bashful at this.

“It’s just the truth,” she says, deflecting the gratitude. 

“You should go get some food,” Glimmer encourages the pair of them. As Catra and Adora wander off to do just that, Bow measures his words carefully - confident Catra will overhear them - before saying:

“I’m glad she’s here.” Glimmer turns to look at him, smiles.

“Yeah,” she says, “I am too.” He watches Catra as subtly as he can for any reaction. There’s an ear flick, a tail twitch, but it’s body language he hasn’t yet figured out how to read. Ah well. There’s no rush. They have all the time in the world now to convince Catra she belongs here, the same way they eventually managed to convince Adora. 

All the time in the world, unless Horde Prime is still out there, reconsolidating, rallying himself for a counter-attack. Bow wishes he could just banish the thoughts, at least for one night, but the possibility has been weighing heavily on him for the last two days. He feels stupid for wanting the repairs to Darla to take as long as possible, because now that all they can do is sit here and wait instead of take action, it’s driving him crazy. 

“Oh hey,” Glimmer says, “Entrapta’s here! And she brought Wrong Hordak! Let’s go say hi! Poor Wrong Hordak, he must still be exhausted. I saw him this morning and I think he’s been having trouble sleeping. He barely looks like his usual cheerful self.” Glimmer blinks them over, already settled back into her habit of lackadaisical use of her teleportation.

“Hi Bow, hi Glimmer!” Entrapta says, beaming. Bow’s eye is drawn to Wrong Hordak, who really does look awful. He’s not even smiling! “I brought - oooh, look how _tiny_ those little sausages are! Be right back!!” Entrapta glides off with eyes only for the snack table, leaving her panicked-looking plus one behind. 

“Man, Wrong Hordak, you’ve really got to stop staying out so late,” Bow says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Wrong Hordak cringes. “Are you okay? It’s really important that you get enough sleep.” He’s clearly not feeling like himself, because he just stares in surprise at Bow and Glimmer for a while before finally muttering:

“I - I must - investigate these small foods as well - “ before shrugging off Bow’s hand and chasing after Entrapta. Glimmer makes a thoughtful noise as they watch his retreat.

“What kind of tea do you think Wrong Hordak would like?” She ponders. “Herbal? Maybe minty? Maybe we should find time to make him a bunch of different kinds and get him to try them all, so we know what to pack for the trip to space.” 

“Sure,” Bow says, only half listening. Something about Wrong Hordak seems… wrong. At last, it clicks in his mind and he realizes what’s different about him. “Wrong Hordak got a new shirt!” He exclaims, smiling brightly. “Awww, he got rid of his old Prime uniform and found something else to wear. Look at that.” He nudges Glimmer in the side excitedly. “Now that’s what I call progress.” 

**Entrapta**

_“Who,”_ Hordak whispers into her ear at the snack table, “is _Wrong_ Hordak?”

“Oh, I’ve told you about him! The clone that we accidentally broke on board Prime’s flagship. That’s what we’ve been calling him.” She selects a fifth appetizer to add to her plate, happily scanning over all the options. Finally, finally, some perfectly sized food. 

“You gave him _my_ name?” 

“I think it was only supposed to be a placeholder,” she answers, unbothered by the low growl of Hordak’s voice, “but it just sort of stuck. I thought he was you, so I tried to give him the First Ones disc that we’d been using to power your exoskeleton, but then it turned out to not be you at all!” Her attention is almost entirely consumed by the selection process of the appetizers; the pile of tiny sausages wrapped in latticework pastry and glazed with some manner of glittery (and presumably edible) coating presents an especially difficult selection process, because the ratio of pastry to filling seems inconsistent from one to the next. She’ll have to think carefully about which ones will likely provide the best eating experience. 

“And the Etherians - the princesses and their ilk - they… do not object to the presence of this… this False Hordak?” She’s not sure why he’s whispering.

“ _Wrong_ Hordak,” she corrects, not bothering to match his volume. He shushes her, and she’s still not sure why, but she decides to humor him and join him in his whispering. He’s probably just being shy. Maybe he doesn’t like crowds. “Who could possibly object to Wrong Hordak? Everybody in the Rebellion likes him. He’s kinda cute!” 

“Cute,” Hordak snarls. _“Cute??”_

“Everything okay over here?” It’s Spinnerella, holding a plate that seems occupied by crumbs and little else. If other people are already coming back for seconds, she’d better prioritize getting all the best pieces. 

“Oh, everything’s just great,” Entrapta says, gesturing at the spread. “Look at them all!”

“Would it be possible,” Hordak growls, “to be given directions to the place where one might perform ablutions?” 

“Sorry, what?” Spinnerella asks.

“He’s asking where the bathrooms are,” Entrapta translates, and then releases a cry of victory as she finally identifies the best sausage roll and claims it for herself. 

“Oh! Yeah, come on Wrong Hordak, I can show you the way.” Spinnerella smiles at him and gestures for him to follow. Entrapta tries to correct her, but with the sausage roll in her mouth she doesn’t have time to chew and swallow before they’re already out of sight, even with its perfectly proportioned size. Won’t Spinnerella feels silly, when she realizes her obvious mistake. How anybody could confuse Hordak for Wrong Hordak is beyond Entrapta. 

“Hey, Entrapta’s here! Entrapta! Over here!” She looks up and finds Scorpia is calling her. Clutching her plate, she wanders over to the large collection of cushions where Scorpia is sitting with Frosta and Perfuma. 

“Oh good, you’re here Scorpia. I’ve been meaning to ask you how the collection of old Horde tech has been coming along. I keep thinking about things from the old Fright Zone lab that would be _really_ useful while working on Darla, but I have no idea what’s been destroyed and what’s been recovered. I don’t suppose you’ve been keeping any sort of _catalog_ , have you?” 

“A catalog,” Scorpia says thoughtfully, “no, but that sounds like it’s probably a really good idea. Perfuma, could you - “

“Got it,” Perfuma says, tapping the side of her head, “all stored up here, I’ll add it to the wishlist.”

“You know, I’ve been discovering,” Scorpia says effusively, “that Perfuma is really good at remembering lists of things we need.”

“My friends’ hopes and dreams are important to me,” Perfuma says airily. She smiles at Entrapta and Entrapta smiles back, because she is 95% certain that is the appropriate reaction to this particular social cue in this particular context. 

“My dreams,” Entrapta tells her very seriously, “primarily involve space.”

“ _Oh_ , En- _trap_ -ta,” Perfuma gushes, patting a pillow and inviting her to sit, “you should tell us all about it! We haven’t heard anything about the journey from you, and I’m _sure_ it couldn’t have _all_ been bad, from the way you keep bringing it up.”

“You… want me to talk to you… about what I like about space?”

“I _do!”_

“Oh,” Entrapta says, lowering herself down with her hair into the pillows while using her hands to grasp tightly onto her plate of appetizers, “oh, I would be _delighted_ to!” 

  
  
  


**Hordak**

To his horror, the chamber of ablutions is absolutely filled with reflective surfaces. He cannot escape the sight of himself, followed everywhere he paces by a mirror image. _Wrong Hordak_. What a vile notion, an insult, a - a _theft_ of his hard-won identity! He spent _years_ coming up with that name, choosing it for himself, and those Etherians simply gifted it, _re-purposed_ it, to some unremarkable brother of his - 

No. Not brother. That pathetic mewling flock of mindless followers will _not_ claim him as one of their rank. 

His reflection snarls back at him. He has always known that he is a clone, always accepted that he is one of many - but then, there has always been a part of him that believed himself exceptional, somehow. After the defect was discovered, of course, he knew that this was the difference he had sensed in himself, the thing that set him apart from the others. Not a mark of superiority, but rather, malfunction. 

Hordak touches his own face, and watches the Hordak in the mirror do the same. After so much time obsessing over what has made him apart from all the others, could Entrapta truly not distinguish him from any other? It makes a pain throb mercilessly inside of him, to think of her offering the First One’s disc he so treasured to some nameless, meaningless drone. 

“Knock knock, you done in there?” Calls a voice through the door. It is one of the inconsequential companions to the princesses. He takes some small pleasure in realizing that despite the Etherians’ affectation of utter individuality, he still has no recollection of this one’s name. If they cannot be bothered to know him, he cannot be bothered to know _them._

“I am… completing the sanitizing process,” he answers through the door, wondering if he should be attempting to imitate the False Hordak, thus to better fool the Etherians. It is strange to walk among them as if undetected - no, not undetected. As if _welcome._

“Well, I applaud your dedication to hand-washing, my friend!” The man says through the door. “But please hurry, if you would? There is but one call louder than the call of adventure, and that, dear boy, is the call of _nature!”_ Hordak snorts. ‘Dear boy’? What manner of strange role does this clone serve among them? He rallies his patience for what he is sure will be an utterly tedious evening and then unlocks the door. The Etherian smiles gratefully at him and then rushes inside with, thankfully, no further commentary. Alone in the hallway, he hesitates a moment, looking around. What is he doing here? Why did he allow Entrapta to convince him to come here? He could be doing so many more productive things with his time. And besides… this is a place of danger, for him. He is their mortal enemy, the one who sought to bring total destruction upon them. Perhaps he should leave. There must be a way to the exit from here that would not bring him past the celebrations. 

That seems like the wisest decision. Likely Entrapta won’t even notice that he’s gone, if she couldn’t even tell him apart from any other of Prime’s common clones. He remembers that to return to the room he came here from, he ought to turn right. With a purposeful set to his steps and a clenching sensation in his upper respiratory system, he deliberately turns left, instead, and stalks off down the unfamiliar hallways. He doesn’t make it very far before his search for the exit is interrupted by a deeply unwelcome voice. 

“Hey, Hordak.” 

_“Catra,”_ he snarls, whirling around to face her. Her hair is different, but nothing else seems to have changed. She leans casually against a wall, arms crossed, expression baselessly confident, eyes full of familiar hatred. 

“I wouldn’t do anything sudden, if I were you,” Catra warns, her voice low and lilting. “Me and She-Ra, well, we’re real close now. All I’d have to do is call and she’d come running. There’s nothing between you and her anymore. No fancy armor, no First One’s tech, no army, no minions, no _Force Captain_.” Catra lets out a little huffed breath of a laugh. How can it seem she’s looking down at him, when he is the one with the advantage of height?

“How pitiful it is,” he mutters, wishing he had some sort of weapon to hand, “that your new friends were so ready to believe I was their little pet clone.”

“You never fooled me,” Catra says cooly, “not for an instant. I’ve been watching you since the moment you stepped into the party. Just what are you planning? I _won’t_ let you get away with it.” It almost, _almost_ , makes him want to laugh with relief that she assumes he’s here for some greater, more meaningful purpose. How banal the truth might seem, should he admit to Catra that he has come to these festivities only at Entrapta’s urging. 

“You may think yourself the one with the tactical advantage now, _Catra_ , but when you make your move to betray these people and seize power, you will learn for yourself how rapid the fall to disgrace can be.” He knows his barb has hit its target, because her face twists up into a furious display of fangs. 

“I will _never_ betray Adora.”

“Your shifting loyalties are perhaps the one and only consistency in your behaviour,” he says, clenching his fists tightly to hide the tremble of his defect. Oh, how he misses his protective suit. “Entrapta nearly died because of - “

_“Entrapta_ has forgiven me,” Catra snaps. She, too, has her fists tightly balled. It brings to mind the room filled with mirrors, to see her subconsciously emulating his posture so. “I’m _doing_ the work to fix the things I’ve done. I’m _trying_ to grow as a person.”

“And yet again,” Hordak growls, “you manage to make this only about yourself.” Catra’s ears go flush with her skull; her eyes turn sharp with rage. 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t tear your throat out right here.” 

“Your precious treaty,” he says simply, a dark smile coming to him as he realizes what an advantage the treaty gives him. He spreads his hands apart. “Come and kill me, if it is so important to you that you would tarnish the peaceful, justice-obsessed reputations of those you have chosen to serve.” Catra trembles with barely-contained violence.

“I’m done serving. I serve _no one_. I belong to no one!” Her hatred for him seems to overflow her mental defenses. She takes a menacing step towards him, then - with a sound of repressed rage - slams a fist into the nearest wall. “They’re my _friends._ They saved me when it could have cost them their lives. When I hadn’t done _anything_ to deserve it. And I will protect them with my _life.”_ All the fur on her shoulders and neck bristles - a fascinating tell of her emotions that is only now visible with her shorter hair. “Do what you want. But I’m watching you.” With that final threat issued, she turns on her heel and storms off back to the party. 

Hordak is left standing there monitoring his vitals with only the rudimentary instruments of his own observations. He forces his breathing to slow, tries to stop the quake of his defect flaring up again. He considers his own words - how rapid the fall to disgrace, indeed. Shame drapes itself around him like a waterlogged cloak, heavy and uncomfortable. Shame… because there can be no denying it. He was afraid, in that moment. Afraid for his life.

Afraid of _Catra_. 

How far… how very far he has fallen.


	10. Punch Drunk

**Catra**

“Whatever you do,” she reiterates, running a hand across Melog’s forehead, “don’t let him out of your sight. I have no idea what he’s planning, but as long as we watch him closely, we should be able to stop him.”

“You can depend on me,” Melog says, bumping their head against Catra’s stomach. She smiles, even though she’s terrified of how badly this could all go wrong. “Are you certain it’s the right decision to keep this from Adora?” 

“She doesn’t need the stress. I can handle it. For once in our lives, I’m going to be the one protecting her.”

“Her ignorance serves no purpose - “

“Look, trust me. I know how to handle Hordak. You stay hidden and watch him, and let me know the second he does anything suspicious.”

“Very well,” Melog concedes, and with a twinkle of magic vanishes from view. 

“Thank you,” Catra sighs, straightening up and dusting off her pants. 

“Hey, there you are,” a voice says from behind. She spins to face the owner of the voice and smiles.

“Hey Adora.”

“Where’ve you been?” 

“There was a line for the bathroom.” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Sea Hawk was re-waxing his moustache in there and hitting on his own reflection.” 

“I missed you,” Adora says, sneaking a quick kiss while there’s nobody else in the hallway with them. Catra grins at her. What a dork.

“I’ve been gone like five whole minutes.” 

“So maybe I’m making up for lost time.”

“That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Catra says, stealing another kiss. “Come on, people are gonna wonder where we are.” She takes Adora’s hand and they wander back to where the party is. 

“I dare anybody - anybody at all - except for Adora - to challenge me to an _arm wrestle!”_

“Wait, is that Sea Hawk?” Catra asks, eyebrows raising. “How did he get back to the party so fast? And is he… drunk?” 

“Honestly, it’s kind of hard to tell with him,” Adora laughs. “You should take him up on his challenge. I bet you could beat him.”

“Hah, like it’d be hard!” They turn the corner and arrive just in time to watch Sea Hawk slam Scorpia’s claw against the table and declare victory. “Wh - wait a minute, _how -_ “ 

“Wanna watch me put him in his place?” Adora murmurs, sounding surprisingly wicked. The sadistic curl at the corner of her mouth is a pretty potent distraction - it’s a good thing Catra’s got Melog on the job of keeping an eye on Hordak. 

“Oh, I would _love_ to.” They meander over to the table where Sea Hawk has arranged himself to accept new challengers; Catra does in fact notice a cup of punch at his elbow that looks nearly empty. She’s pretty confident it’s not the same juice that Frosta is drinking. 

“Now, I _do_ recall saying anyone _except_ Adora,” Sea Hawk says, but he’s already got his arm in position and ready for battle. “But I suppose I can find time to break your winning streak at long last.”

“Yeah, you _wish_ ,” Adora counters, lowering herself into the chair across from him and clasping their hands together. Catra’s eyes are drawn inescapably to Adora’s forearm and wrist and knuckles, fascinated by the play of shadows in the dips and divisions between muscle and bone as Adora flexes. If only she weren’t wearing that old Horde jacket, imagine what a good show her biceps and triceps would be putting on right now. Yes, Catra is very appreciative of the fact that Melog is on watch duty right now so that she can give herself the gift of this beautiful sight uninterrupted. 

“Oh man, I cannot _believe_ how good that guy is at arm wrestling!” Scorpia enthuses, snapping Catra violently out of her reverent admiration. Catra grits her teeth almost entirely on reflex - this isn’t the first time Scorpia has interrupted something with an unwelcome opinion - but forces herself to unclench. She needs to learn to be more patient, needs to not snap at people who are trying to be friendly - _especially_ Scorpia, who she knows she’s been awful to. 

“I’m surprised he beat you,” she says, speaking honestly and fighting to keep any retaliatory sarcasm out of her tone. Better person, better person, working on being a better person. 

“Ah, well, I mean, he’s probably got loads of muscle from, you know, pulling _ropes_ and things. That’s one kind of exercise I’ve never had access to, you know!” Scorpia waves her claws around demonstratively. “No grip, all snip, if you know what I mean!” She laughs a little too loudly and gets those claws a little too far into Catra’s personal space, and Catra’s mantra becomes a frantic grinding in her mind: _betterpersonbetterpersonbetterperson_ , do not lose your temper with Scorpia, do not snap at her. She’s trying to think of something neutral to say when Scorpia looks at her, _really_ looks at her, and obviously sees some sign of the frustrated impatience Catra is trying to quash. Her face falls. “Anyways, I uh - I’m gonna go get some punch, I’ll - I’ll see you around.”

“Scorpia, wait, I - “

“Catra!!! I won! Did you see! I win again!!” Catra flashes Adora an approving smile to acknowledge that she’s paying attention, and then turns to intercept Scorpia before she can leave, but in that brief moment Scorpia’s already gone. Catra swears. Great, just great! This party is already going fabulously. 

“Catra,” Melog’s voice rings inside her head, “He’s approaching the table of refreshments unsupervised.” 

“Catra?” Adora asks, “What’re you looking at?” 

“Uh - snacks! I just realized I’m really hungry. You want anything?” She spots Hordak bent over the spread of appetizers. No time to wait for Adora’s reply, she marches off to go stop him from whatever nefarious thing he’s doing. Could he be planning on poisoning the guests?? That might actually be it - he could take out all of Etheria’s leaders in a single night if he’s smart about it. She walks faster, just shy of running, and grabs his arm right as he’s reaching for a tiny pastry-wrapped sausage. “ _What_ do you think you’re doing?” 

“Release me at once, you impudent traitor,” Hordak hisses under his breath. “What I am doing is _none_ of your concern!” 

“Are there any of the little green ones left??” Entrapta bellows from across the room. Hordak straightens, his face forcefully neutral.

“There are only five remaining!” he answers, raising his voice so that Entrapta can hear him over the chatter of the crowd. 

“Get me some of those ones!!” 

“Oh no,” Catra laughs, sounding a little frantic even to her own ears, “I do _not_ buy that. You really expect me to believe you’re doing snack runs for people now?” 

“Make a scene if you wish,” Hordak says, yanking his arm from her grip, “but as far as your friends know, I am their mild-mannered companion _False Hordak -”_

“ - it’s ‘Wrong’ Hordak, actually - “

“ - and will see _you_ as the instigator, not me.”

“I mean, I could just tell them who you are,” Catra snorts, watching him carefully to make sure he doesn’t pull a fast one and slip something into the food while he keeps her talking. 

“It would be as much to your detriment as to mine. If your priority is to keep this gathering peaceful, you should leave me alone and go back to your _She-Ra_ .” As much as she absolutely loathes talking to Hordak, she feels a little thrill at hearing him describe She-Ra as _hers_. 

“You know, it’s so hard to take you seriously anymore,” she says, deliberately trying to push his buttons, to make him angry and get him to expose himself, “what with you looking like that.”

“Like _what?”_

“Oh, you know, the whole, daddy’s good little clone thing you’ve got going on. Guess you haven’t found the time to pick up a new box of hair dye, huh? How long will it take for your teeth to turn back to red so you can pretend to be your own person again? Do they make a special toothpaste for that?” She can tell it’s working, because she of all people is intimately familiar with the twitch he gets below his eyes when he’s working himself into a nice frothing rage. 

“The oxidation process will take _decades_ to degrade my body to the same state it was in after all those years on your awful planet. You with your pitiful lifespan will not live to see - wh - why are you _laughing_ at me?”

“Oh, I just - it’s so funny that you thought I actually _cared_ .” Catra bares her teeth just a little bit, just enough that anybody watching the interaction would mistake it for a smile. It feels… good, somehow, to be deliberately trying to hurt him. Good, but also… bad at the same time. Wasn’t she supposed to be better than this now? This is supposed to be something the _old_ Catra did, not something she can slip into again as easily as an old jacket. It’s satisfying in the same way that doing something you know you shouldn’t be doing is - it feels cathartic in the moment, as long as you don’t think about the guilt you’re going to feel later. 

_“You,”_ he snarls, shoulders tight, body language screaming impending attack. “You - “

“Ah-ah-ah,” Catra says, moving down the table and casually plucking a selection of appetizers to dump on a plate, “don’t blow your cover. That treaty will only do _so_ much to protect you. There isn’t a single person in this room that your actions haven’t hurt. And anyways… you haven’t even signed it yet, _have_ you?” This is a tidbit of information that she picked up earlier today helping Adora carry extra chairs into the great hall, overheard from a conversation between King Micah and Bow. 

“And why should I? As if the Etherians have any right to pass judgement on me,” he snorts, watching Catra reaching for the little green ones that Entrapta mentioned and quickly snatching a handful of them before Catra can take any. Interesting. 

“Entrapta told us what you did, you know,” Catra says, “on Prime’s flagship during the battle.” She’d intended for it to sound smug, wanted to rub it in his face that she’s got intel on his behaviour that he probably didn’t expect her to have - but she makes the mistake of remembering what it feels like to be trapped on that ship, remembering how desperately she’d wished she could do exactly what Hordak had done, and the unexpected empathy softens her words.

“The Etherians have no right to pass judgement on me,” he reiterates, his grip on his plate of appetizers taking on a visible tremble, “but _you_ , least of all, are in any position to judge.” With that said, he storms off over to where Entrapta is telling a small group of people about the technological wonders of First Ones air scrubbing filters. Catra watches him go with a frown.

“This party sucks,” she mutters to herself, and then nearly jumps out of her skin when Adora appears beside her. 

“Aw, come on, don’t be such a grump,” Adora says, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Like a flower responding to moonlight, Catra smiles without meaning to. “Do you want to try some punch? It’s pretty good.” 

“Is that the kind Sea Hawk was drinking?” She looks at the cup in Adora’s other hand. It’s shaped like an orb with moon patterns on the outside, of course, because this is Bright Moon and their design sensibility is proving to be painfully literal; the cheerfully purple liquid inside smells very sweet and very alcoholic. “Take it easy on those, okay?” If Hordak _does_ try something, She-Ra probably won’t be much help if Adora is passed out in a corner. 

“Don’t worry,” Adora says, bumping her shoulder against Catra’s. “I’m not going to get drunk and leave you alone at a party.” Not exactly what Catra was worried about, but it warms her heart regardless to know Adora’s thinking about that sort of thing. 

“I don’t blame you for wanting to just relax and have fun for once,” Catra says fondly. She considers telling Adora about Hordak - maybe Melog is right, maybe it doesn’t make any sense to try to handle it on her own. She takes a deep breath, and then decides to just do it. There’s nothing shameful about wanting to work together instead of keeping it secret. “Adora, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but over there with Entrapta? That’s _not_ \- “

“Catra, hey, hi, can I, could I maybe just, grab you for a second?” Scorpia again, somehow managing to increase her running tally of poorly timed interruptions. 

“Hey, uh, Scorpia, I was actually just, if you could give me a second - “

“No, you go ahead,” Adora says, releasing Catra’s hand and giving her a little push towards Scorpia. “I bet you two have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Adora, wait - “

“I’m just gonna go chat with Bow and Glimmer, come find me when you’re done, okay?” Dammit. Catra turns to face Scorpia, once again at odds with her thinning temper. 

“What - “ no, no, that’s coming out too snappy, “ - what, uh, did you want to talk about?” 

“Look, Catra - ” Scorpia says, and Catra picks up on something in her breath. She’s been drinking. Looks like most of the party-goers have started getting into the punch. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say. And - and well - you know, I - “ Catra wishes she were anywhere but here, wishes Melog would come and turn her invisible so that she can go run and hide in Adora’s room instead of have to listen to this, have to face this. She wants to cut Scorpia off, snarl that she’s _sorry, okay_ , and just get it over with, but that’s not the right thing either, that’s just going back exactly to how things were, going back exactly to the kind of person she was when she drove Scorpia away. She _can’t_ go back to being that person, because she can’t go back to being alone, can’t go back to being the person who _everybody_ gives up on and walks away from. So she clenches her mouth shut and reminds herself that whatever Scorpia has to say, no matter how much it hurts, her job is just to take it on the chin and resist the urge to punch back.

“I trusted you.” is the first thing Scorpia starts with, and as anticipated it hits Catra as hard as any blow. “I respected you.” Catra lets out a surprised, pained huff of breath, but doesn’t stop Scorpia from building momentum. “I thought if I just gave you enough, if I just stayed long enough, took enough of your - your harsh words - “ - _abuse_ \- Catra thinks. The word Scorpia can’t bring herself to say is _abuse._ “ - then you’d see that you could trust me too, see that you didn’t have to be that person with me.” Catra can hear that Scorpia’s on the verge of tears, and she can’t bear to look at her face. “I spent a lot of time thinking that - thinking that it was _my_ fault somehow, that that never happened, that you never decided to trust me.” She knew, she _knew_ in her heart that what she was doing to Scorpia wasn’t just lashing out, wasn’t just the pain of a single nasty word. _I’m just as bad as Shadow Weaver_ , she realizes suddenly, and finds herself thinking about Mysticor, thinking about Glimmer’s dad and his dark magic, saying _I learned from the best_ as he dragged them down and wrapped them in agony. Is she just another part of Shadow Weaver’s legacy of pain? 

“I told you that I forgave you, at the meeting,” Scorpia continues, pausing only to take a big sniff and wipe at her face with a claw, “but I’ve been feeling guilty about that ever since, because I don’t know if it was actually true.”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Catra croaks, crossing her arms tightly and staring at her feet. “I was horrible to you. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, and I’m sorry.” She feels bruised and tender all over. She knows that no matter what Adora and Glimmer say about fixing things and making things right, there isn’t a way to undo what she did to Scorpia. “You can hit me, if you think it would make you feel better,” she blurts out without thinking. 

“Catra,” Scorpia says, and the deep worry in the way she says it makes Catra flinch with renewed shame, “I decided when I left the Fright Zone that I had to stop letting people hurt me to try to feel better about - about whatever was hurting them. Nobody should have to live like that. And _nobody_ includes _you.”_ Catra finally manages to make herself look Scorpia in the eye; they’re both crying. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” Catra swallows hard and gives a quick nod, because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Scorpia wraps her arms around her, and Catra presses her face into Scorpia’s shoulder and takes a deep breath of that old, familiar scent. 

“This is the _worst_ party I’ve _ever_ been to,” she mumbles shakily into Scorpia’s shirt. 

“That one in the Crimson Wastes was pretty fun, huh?” Scorpia says, with another big sniff. 

“Yeah,” Catra says, hesitantly putting her own arms around Scorpia. “I miss that whip.”

“You looked really cool with that whip,” Scorpia says emotionally. 

“Thanks,” Catra whimpers, for once not annoyed that Scorpia’s hugs seem to go on forever, “you looked really cool in that jacket.”

“You really mean it?”

“Yeah. I mean it.” 

She hears a set of footsteps approaching up the corridor.

“My brothers!” Oh. Oh boy. Things are about to get messy. Catra extracts herself from the hug and watches as Wrong Hordak, the _real_ Wrong Hordak, arrives at the party. “I beg your forgiveness for arriving late. I have brought with me some edible organic matter, as I understand is the custom!” He smiles innocently at all of the heads that have turned in confusion, holding up his handful of leaves. Yep, that is _definitely_ Wrong Hordak. As one, everybody turns to look at the near-identical Prime clone clinging to Entrapta’s side.

  
 _“HORDAK!”_ Frosta yells. Before anybody else can react she’s on her feet, fists encased in ice, and has Hordak backed up against a wall with his fangs out and his expression panicked. Catra huffs a satisfied little laugh and readies herself for battle. Looks like the party's over.


	11. Conflict Resolution Skills

**Bow**

“Okay, everybody just stay calm - !” Bow tries to shout over the crowd coalescing around Hordak. Entrapta has flung herself between Hordak and everybody else, and looks equal parts confused and worried. 

“You can’t hurt him, he hasn’t done anything wrong!” She says, managing to almost entirely obscure him from view by using both her arms and her hair in concert. 

“Oh, he’s done _plenty_ wrong,” Netossa says.

“He should have known better than to come here,” Frosta adds menacingly, ice gauntlets still at the ready. 

“I _invited_ him,” Entrapta says. “The invitation clearly stated that I could bring a friend. And he _is_ my friend.” 

“Guys, guys - !” Bow tries again, trying to get everybody to just take a deep breath and be reasonable. 

“I’ve got this,” he hears Glimmer whisper into his ear, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait, Glimmer, you’ve been drinking - what are you going to - “ 

“Stand aside!” Glimmer bellows, still holding her cup of punch. The group glances back at her and hesitates to obey right up until she straightens her posture and issues a devastatingly Queen Angella-like glower. They part before her as she crosses the distance to the source of the chaos.

“The treaty said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Entrapta says, standing her ground between Hordak and Glimmer. 

“He hasn’t signed the treaty,” Glimmer says gently. Bow is a little surprised at how well Glimmer is keeping it together, and kind of impressed with how regal and placid she sounds - riiiight up until she smirks like a wild thing unchained, giggles to herself, and then teleports suddenly past Entrapta, lays a hand on Hordak, and teleports away. 

“Hordak? Hordak??” Entrapta whirls around and finds him gone, then pushes past the crowd calling his name, headed for the exit. Before she can get too far, Adora intercepts her with a hand on her arm. 

“It’ll be okay, Entrapta,” Adora says, although her face seems to suggest she’s not totally convinced of that herself. A few moments later, Glimmer teleports back into the center of the room empty-handed. Ohhhh, please let Glimmer not have dropped Hordak into a canyon from a hundred thousand feet up. 

“Problem solved,” she giggles, taking a celebratory swig of her punch, which she is still holding. 

“What did you do to him?” Entrapta asks, almost pleading, and it genuinely breaks Bow’s heart to hear. Entrapta is always so chipper, even in the most dire of circumstances - seeing her face fallen and filled with dread is something he never expected to see, and certainly not on behalf of Hordak. It had been so easy to forget that Entrapta wasn’t just working _for_ him, but rather _with_ him, during her time in the Fright Zone. It’s a bitter reminder of how easily she let the allure of technology direct the arrow of her moral compass. 

But _no -_ Entrapta is his _friend_ , and she’s saved all of their lives at least a dozen times in the last week alone. They wouldn’t have been able to defeat Horde Prime without her. She’s not a bad person just because she made some bad decisions… and it kills him to see her so upset. 

“Oh, don’t _worry,”_ Glimmer enthuses, if not immune to Entrapta’s expression then perhaps oblivious to it in the moment. “I just put him in our prison cell!” 

“Oh,” Bow says, with a sigh of relief, and Adora does the same. 

“He’ll be totally fine,” Adora reassures Entrapta, “have you _seen_ Bright Moon’s ‘prison cell’? It’s really just a spare room.” 

“I can’t believe you just sent Hordak to his room.” Bow squeaks, delighted by the mental image and unable to stop himself from blurting it out. In the name of Queen Glimmer, you are grounded, young man! He clears his throat and tries to get business-like again. “We should probably send someone to guard the door, and get the magical wards up if Glimmer didn’t do that already.”

“Don’t worry, I put him in the circle, it’s _fine,”_ Glimmer says, flopping down happily onto a poof chair and snatching an appetizer off of someone’s abandoned plate. 

“I’ll go see that it’s done properly,” Castaspella says. “Glimmer’s come a long way with her magic but she is still learning, and is… a little bit tipsy right now.” Rather than refute this accusation, Glimmer gives her aunt a big theatrical wink. 

“I’m going with you,” Entrapta says, obviously needing to see with her own eyes that Hordak isn’t being mistreated.

“I will escort you,” says General Juliet, swiftly taking control of the situation. “We’ll handle things from here, Queen Glimmer.” The three of them head down the hallway, and an awkward silence hangs over the party. Bow makes eye contact with Adora, and she grimaces at him and then wanders over.

“Should we send everybody home, just to be safe?” He asks her quietly, brows furrowed.

“We should be in there interrogating him,” She suggests instead. “Or at least helping to stand guard.” Bow frowns, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I’m… not really sure what he’s capable of right now, if anything. He didn’t seem to have any weapons on him. But I don’t feel right, just putting him in the spare room and pretending everything is fine now. I mean, what was he even doing here in the first place? I feel like I should be searching the building for a bomb, or trying to figure out if one of the guests is actually Double Trouble, or - “

“You should let us old folks take care of this one, Bow,” King Micah says, appearing from behind them and setting a heavy, gnarled hand on Bow’s shoulder. “You kids have done so much already. Adora in particular. You needed this night of relaxation, and it’s not totally ruined beyond repair. I think you should let us handle it - like you said, he didn’t seem to actually be much of a threat, and it _does_ simplify things for us to have him as our captive. We’ll be able to ask him more directly about Horde Prime, and get him to issue the statement to all of the followers he still has remaining about the surrender and dissolution of the Horde. Entrapta might not have intended to, but she did us a favour by bringing him here where we can keep an eye on him.” Bow gives King Micah a grateful smile.

“Are you sure?” Adora presses, still tense. “I really feel like I should be doing something to make sure it’s all under control.” 

“How about this,” Micah proposes, “Spinnerella and Netossa and I will oversee the guards’ search for anything dangerous he might have brought with him into the castle, and check in on him and the guards on his door periodically, and report the all clear to you every half hour. You’ll know if something is wrong if you haven’t heard from me in a while, but otherwise there’s nothing you need to actively do or worry about.”

“Okay,” Adora sighs reluctantly. 

“You should take a page from Glimmer’s book. Sit with your friends, have a little punch, and trust that your allies have your back.” He nods at where his daughter is curled up with Perfuma, giggling at something while braiding the princess’s long hair. “Trust us to handle this one, and take the night off. You’ve more than earned it.” King Micah removes his hand from Bow’s shoulder and it feels a lot like taking his quiver off after a long, long day. Take the night off… that sounds really nice. 

“What do you say, Adora?” he says, smiling at her hopefully. “I think we can get this party swinging again.” She smiles back, although it doesn’t quite seem to reach her eyes. He suspects that the idea of a night off is a difficult one for her to grapple with, once she’s identified a threat. 

“I guess we can try. I really wasn’t expecting it to be dealt with so easily. We spent so long thinking of Hordak as the worst possible enemy we’d have to face, and then Glimmer just - “ Adora makes an imitation of the noise Glimmer’s teleportation makes, and Bow stifles a laugh at the extremely goofy face she makes in order to achieve the sound effect, “ - and bam, he’s dealt with and taken safely into custody. I mean, imagine if we’d done that in the first place.”

“I suspect it wouldn’t have been quite that easy,” Bow says, taking Adora’s arm and leading her to the pile of cushions where Mermista and Frosta look like they’re talking about Hordak, from the anger on their faces, and Scorpia is sitting nearby looking a little lost. “Okay, who wants to play cards?” He says, deliberately interrupting their doom-filled conversation. 

“Um, are we just going to totally forget that Hordak infiltrated our party?” Mermista asks, looking deeply unimpressed by Bow’s nonchalance. 

“We’re not forgetting about it,” Adora says, coming to his defense, “We’re just letting the General and King Micah handle it, and not letting Hordak ruin our night.” She puts on a smile, her brave, nobody-can-know-that-I-have-doubts smile. “He doesn’t have that power over us anymore.” That manages to win Frosta over, the idea of fun as an act of defiance and rebellion.

“What kind of card game were you thinking?” Frosta asks. Bow settles down onto the floor cross-legged and pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket. 

“Ever played Triple-Triple Five of Hearts?”

“I think my _grandma_ used to play that,” Mermista teases, repositioning so she can join the game despite her ribbing. Bow wants to sigh with relief, that his gambit to redirect the energy of the party seems to have worked. 

“Is that one anything like Lizard Rummy?” Scorpia asks, eyes lighting up.

“Kind of, but some of the rules are different. Here, I’ll teach you. Adora, want me to deal you in?” He smiles up at her, noticing that she still hasn’t sat down to join the circle. 

“Maybe in a bit,” she says distantly. “You want anything from the punch table?” 

“Yeah, actually, that’d be nice. Thanks Adora.” 

“Be back in a bit,” she says, and the grin she flashes him is definitely not sincere. She’s probably still not convinced she has any right to take it easy. Hopefully she’ll unwind a bit and come around to the idea once some time passes and nothing disastrous has happened. 

“Okay, so since there are four of us playing, we each get seven cards to start. The goal of the game is to be the first person to get rid of all your cards.” 

  
  
  


**Adora**

She debates whether she ought to go looking for Catra again. This is the third time tonight Catra’s vanished into thin air - probably with Melog’s help, now that Adora thinks about it - and it’s starting to really bother her. Is she just being overly protective? Clingy? Will Catra chafe at how tightly Adora is sticking to her, if she keeps tracking her down any time she wanders off? 

Adora goes to the punch bowl and fills a cup for Bow just for something to do with her hands while she’s trying to decide whether to go searching for Catra. She’s probably being too needy. Catra probably just needed to use the bathroom, or wanted some fresh air. But why didn’t she _say_ anything before leaving? No, no, she’s being too controlling. Catra is her own person and she doesn’t have to report all her movements to Adora. She rubs a hand over her face and takes a deep breath. Her heart is still racing, her whole body still ready to fight. She’s not sure how to deactivate her response to danger, not sure how to convince her racing thoughts that she doesn’t need to have a sword in her hand right now. 

“Adora? You okay?” _Catra._ Thank goodness. 

“I’m fine, are _you_ okay? You vanished right after Glimmer grabbed Hordak.” Catra looks guilty, and now Adora’s worried her question came out too accusatory. 

“I needed to see for myself where he was being taken. I wanted to make sure it was actually going to be able to hold him.” Tension is written in the lines of Catra’s body, in the rigidity of her shoulders and the sharp flick of her tail. Catra tenses even further, like she’s bracing for a blow, and then says, “I knew it was him. I was about to tell you when Scorpia came over, I swear. I know I should have told you sooner. It’s okay if you’re mad at me.” Adora’s brows press together.

“Catra, I’m not mad at you.” Adora quickly puts the pieces together in her mind - Catra’s disappearances throughout the night, her oddly aggressive looking exchange with ‘Wrong Hordak’ - and it dawns on her. “That’s why you’ve been disappearing all night. You’ve been watching him.” 

“I thought I could deal with it so you didn’t have to.” she mutters. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Adora counters. “Not at all.” She puts both hands around the cup of punch, sloshing it around in circles in the cute little orb-shaped container as she works through her thoughts. “I’ve been standing here feeling like - like a failure, because I didn’t spot him, because Glimmer had to be the one to step in and deal with him, and I didn’t even _do_ anything.” She focuses on the sensation of the cool glass against her palm so that it’ll distract her from the promising tingle of She-Ra’s sword in her hand, almost begging her to summon it. 

“You’re not a failure,” Catra says. 

“King Micah said we should just let him and the General handle it, and that we should take the night off for once,” Adora continues, like she doesn’t hear Catra. She shifts the glass over to one hand so that she can flex her fingers open and closed a few times, willing the tingles to dissipate. “Do you think it ever goes away?” 

“What?” 

“The… the impulse to fight whatever the problem is. You’re feeling it right now too, aren’t you?” Catra looks momentarily stricken, then nods. 

“Like I’ve got all this energy that’s got nowhere to go, yeah. Like - like waking up from one of those dreams where you were falling, and even though you know it wasn’t real you can’t convince your body that it doesn’t need to be freaking out.” 

“Exactly,” Adora says. She scans the room, watching Bow teaching Frosta and Scorpia and Mermista his card game and Glimmer beaming blissfully as Perfuma braids flowers into her hair while Sea Hawk tells some story nearby. “I don’t know how they do it. Just… let it go. I mean, I know they haven’t exactly had an easy time - they’ve been at war their entire lives, and Glimmer grew up without her dad and then lost her mom, but…” she trails off, not sure how to form what she’s feeling into words. 

“But they’re not broken the same way we are,” Catra finishes for her, so softly that she’s barely audible. Adora clenches her jaw to hold back a swell of emotion at hearing Catra put it so clearly. She hates it. She hates it so much, how helpless it makes her feel that she still isn’t completely free of her past, is still someone who’s been shaped and molded by the people and experiences of her childhood. She doesn’t want all these fingerprints on her person, doesn’t want them dictating how she reacts to things, how she handles stress and conflict, how she handles the absence of those things. “Do you think we could ever be like that? Ever be like them?”

“I don’t know,” Adora says, honestly. She looks at the glass in her hand, then back at the others all seeming so comfortable and happy. “But I think it’s worth trying. I’m gonna go give Bow his drink and see how their game is going.” She turns her gaze on Catra, offers her a wry, weary grin. “Come with me?” 

“Fine,” Catra huffs, with mock suffering, “but if Perfuma starts coming at me with a flower crown, I’m using you as a human shield.” Adora laughs, slipping her hand into Catra’s. 

“Deal.” 

**Entrapta**

“I should never have let you convince me to come here,” Hordak says, crumpled into a defeated heap. “It was a tactical error - one that has cost me my freedom.” She expected him to be yelling, but he isn’t. Maybe it’s just that he’s in a room with carpets and drapery for once - it’s remarkable how sound absorbent a little interior decorating can be. 

“It’s only until you prove that you can be trusted,” she says, feeling much calmer now that she’s seen the room for herself and figured out a plan. “You can take it easy here for a few weeks while I finish Darla’s upgrades, and then we’ll be back out of here and off to space. Oh, and Bow mentioned a possible mission up to the flagship that he wanted to bring you on! So it’s not really like you’ll be trapped. The food’s pretty good here, and everybody really is friendly once they get past the initial period.” 

“I highly doubt they will ever _trust_ me. And they would be fools to do so.” 

“Aw, it’s okay - there’s nothing wrong with being scared people won’t like you. But if you give them a chance - “ 

“I do not _care_ what they think of me,” he snaps, leaping to his feet, “and I do not _care_ for this agenda of yours. Do not think that I am ignorant of what you are doing - you’re trying to turn me into some naive housepet like your precious _Wrong Hordak_.”

“Hordak, I - “

“Get out,” he growls, “and go be with your beloved princesses and your well-trained clone.” She opens her mouth to refuse, but he cuts her off with a scream of _GET OUT_ that summons the Bright Moon guards and results in her forcible removal from the room. She stands there for a while in the hallway unsure of what she’s supposed to do. It seems clear to her that Hordak having accommodations in Bright Moon will make it easier for her to consult with him regularly on her work on Darla - which the others _did_ forbid her from doing, but she intends to disregard because they don’t fully grasp the beneficial impact of Hordak’s insight into how Prime tech and Horde tech can be combined and deployed in concert with First Ones tech. Maybe he’d be less unhappy if Glimmer let her turn the spare room into a laboratory so that he’s got projects he can work on while he’s waiting. It really wouldn’t be a significant change from his lifestyle while they were in the Fright Zone - he hardly ever left his sanctum. 

“You should go back to the party,” Netossa suggests from her position of keeping watch over the door. 

“But what if he gets lonely?” 

“We’ll come and get you if he asks for you. I promise.” 

“Well… okay.” She’s reluctant to leave, but she _does_ want to talk to Bow a little more about the mission to the flagship to search for any evidence of a backup consciousness plan. With the magic of Etheria now released to all the planet’s inhabitants, Glimmer should be able to teleport them up to the flagship without having to wait for Entrapta to finish the work on Darla, giving them some intel on what they’re looking for. Entrapta’s pretty confident she can use the mission to collect some tech to bring back and use to soup up Darla’s shields and communications equipment. 

She returns to the great hall to find the atmosphere changed; the groups of people are smaller, the conversations quieter. Off to one side, Wrong Hordak is smiling at nobody in particular, alone. It looks like he’s added the leaves he brought to the food table. Entrapta heads to him first, setting aside her plan to talk to Bow. 

“Wrong Hordak,” she calls, and he turns his smile upon her, “have you tried any of the snacks yet?” 

“I have not,” he says, so she collects him up with her hair and ushers him over to the table. 

“I think you’ll like these. You should try… this one, and this one, aaaand… these ones.” She makes him a plate, glad for the distraction from her thoughts about Hordak. She knows it’s more efficient to have him here while her priority is getting Darla finished, but he seemed really upset. 

“And these are foods that you recommend I _chew_?” Wrong Hordak asks.

  
“ _Yes,_ although thankfully they don’t require as much chewing as the food we’ve been eating at camp… because they’re so _tiny_!”


	12. The Risk of a Dream

**Glimmer**

“One o’clock and all’s well,” her father reports softly, creating a brief pause in the quiet conversation happening among those who’ve lingered at the party. Scorpia took Frosta to her guest room and tucked her into bed about an hour ago, leaving just their core group to sit around the pillow pile, contemplatively sipping punch, talking. At Glimmer’s urging, Bow brought out his violin at one point - it’s back in its case now, placed protectively underneath one of the snack tables, but the sweet and solemn tune he chose to play for them is still on her mind. 

Her drunkenness has floated from a buoyant imperviousness to a touchy-feely affection and now has settled into a sleepy, uninhibited satisfaction. Bow’s had just enough to laugh a little harder and a little longer at jokes - his own included - and everybody seems to be in a good mood, if a chill one. Mermista is splayed out across the pillows like the queen of the world with Sea Hawk’s head in her lap, resembling a lanky mustachio’d dog happily receiving attention. Adora’s sitting up on a poof chair, and Catra has been maintaining subtle but constant physical contact with Adora by sitting on the floor with her back against one of Adora’s legs. 

Glimmer’s been watching Scorpia and Perfuma, _certain_ that there’s something blossoming between the two of them, but they haven’t been touching beyond what could pass for casual affection between friends. Wrong Hordak slipped away around the same time they put Frosta to bed, saying something about tending to his brothers in the forest. Entrapta is plunked happily between Mermista and Perfuma, still vibrantly decorated - it took a full hour and a half between Glimmer and Perfuma to braid flowers into her enormous, lively locks of hair. 

There are flowers everywhere; it reminds Glimmer of when they first met Perfuma. With Perfuma’s sweet charisma she’s managed to convince just about everyone to accept this token of her affection; Catra is the only one who resisted, and even then about fifteen minutes later she blushingly allowed Adora to tuck a single bloom behind one ear. Adora looks especially cute right now, Glimmer decides, with one single braid running along the side of her head - interwoven with flowers, of course - and pulled back into her usual ponytail. Admiring her handiwork, Glimmer gazes happily at Adora’s hair for a bit and then looks down at Catra, who has shifted position so that she’s nestled between Adora’s legs with her face tucked adorably against one of Adora’s knees. They’re both so cute she can’t handle it.

Glimmer sighs, and smiles, and leans back into Bow’s arms. 

“I love you guys,” she says.

“You big sap.” Mermista says. 

“We love you too,” Sea Hawk translates from her lap, the flowers in his moustache emphasizing his broad smile. 

“People keep saying,” Glimmer muses, “that this is the end of the war. But it doesn’t feel like something that’s ending. It feels like something that’s been waiting a long time to be allowed to start.” 

“Well _that’s_ just super poetic.” Scorpia says, beaming. “I _like_ that.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Bow says, and the warmth of his voice on Glimmer’s neck is so, so pleasant that she can’t help but smile. “I’ve found myself suddenly thinking about all these things that I might do, all these things that it never felt possible to dream about, before.” 

“Like what, Bow?” Perfuma asks encouragingly.

“Well… I joined the Rebellion to fight for what I believed was right, and I’ve never regretted that. But now that there’s no more war, I’ve been thinking more and more about my inventions, and - and how happy they make me.” He sounds sheepish, saying this last part, so Glimmer puts a hand on his knee and hopes he can feel just how hard she’s thinking about how much she likes his inventions, how much she likes that they make him happy. 

“I’ve been thinking about things I never thought would be possible, too,” Entrapta says, looking up from her data pad. “Something that I never could have imagined - now that we’re back in the wider universe, there are other planets, other civilizations that we can go out there and learn from. I don’t have to rely on relics and ruins and try to guess my way through how things work. We can find and meet the greatest minds from around the galaxy, and work together to make new discoveries far, far beyond the scope of anything I could have accomplished on my own, still lost in Despondos.” 

“Once Salineas is rebuilt,” Mermista contributes, sounding uncharacteristically enthusiastic, “I want to try writing books. I’ve had this idea for a magical murder mystery series for _years_ , but it’s always seemed like a waste of time to want to write stories when the world is, you know. Sort of burning.” 

“Burning,” Sea Hawk parrots sleepily with a little smile. “Perhaps I too shall pursue my passion of - “

“There is _no such thing_ \- “ Mermista interrupts, “ - as a performance artist who exclusively burns down ships.”

“Not _yet_ , there isn't,” Sea Hawk says, a twinkle in his eye.

“What about you, Scorpia?” Perfuma asks, prompting Glimmer to wonder yet again if she’s just imagining the chemistry between the two. “Do you have any dreams that might not have seemed possible before?” 

“Oh, gosh - I mean - so many things that have already happened seemed like they couldn’t be possible, you know? I mean - like, connecting to the Black Garnet, for example, whoo, sure never let myself think _that_ would ever be possible. Heck, I never thought that - never thought that I could be a princess, never thought that _other_ princesses would, you know. Want me to be one of them. And I _sure_ didn’t think I’d be, you know, put in charge of an entire kingdom. I really do not know if that’s gonna go well, but - I mean - I guess those things _are_ possible, and they’re possible _because_ I have you guys.” Glimmer watches with intense scrutiny as Perfuma smiles and puts a hand on Scorpia’s arm. Friendly touch? More than friendly touch? She _needs_ to know.

“We’ll all be here to support you, Scorpia,” Perfuma says, utterly sincere. She really is just so good-natured in general that there’s no way to tell if she’s being unusually warm to someone.

“What about you, Glimmer?” Bow asks. She smiles and snuggles into him. 

“I want to be surrounded by my friends for the rest of my life. I want us to have parties and play card games until we’re old and grey and our grandkids are doing all the hard work of running our kingdoms for us.” She looks back out at the group, at the two who have been markedly silent through all of this - Catra and Adora. Adora’s smiling at her answer, but looks startled when Glimmer asks: “What about you, Adora?”

“Me? I uh - I don’t know, I mean - I’ve - I’ve never had any dreams that were - “ she blushes and stammers, “ - you know, I’ve just always sort of - wanted what I was told to want. I guess I - I guess I’d have to think about it. None of this has really... really finished sinking in, you know?” 

“There’s no rush,” Bow says, with that immense compassion of his that Glimmer loves so much. “There’s nothing wrong with not knowing what you want, now that you’re allowed to want things for yourself.” 

“Well, what about you, Catra? Got any hopes or dreams you wanna share with the group?” Glimmer asks. Catra doesn’t budge or even look up, and it isn’t until Adora smiles down at her indulgently that Glimmer realizes why Catra isn’t answering. 

“Catra’s been asleep for like the last twenty minutes,” Adora says, with a soft vulnerability in her expression as she reaches down and runs her fingers through Catra’s hair. “She’s had a long day. I think I might take her to bed.” 

  
  


**Adora**

She wakes from the nightmare with a start, gasping herself awake. Blearily she pieces together where she is - Bright Moon, her old bedroom, her bed. There’s nobody in the bed with her, which seems right at first, but then she remembers there _is_ supposed to be someone there with her. 

“Catra?” she asks the darkness, voice rough and disoriented with sleep. 

“I’m out here,” Catra answers, to Adora’s relief. Groggily, Adora peels herself from the sheets and staggers to her feet. It’s still dark. It can’t possibly be morning. She rubs her eyes, waiting for them to adjust, and then goes out to the balcony where Catra’s voice came from. 

“Hey,” Catra says, when Adora joins her. She’s sitting on the railing in the tanktop and underwear she went to bed in, looking up at the only moon currently visible in the night sky. “You okay?”

“Nightmare,” Adora confesses offhandedly, clearing her throat. “What’re you doing up?” 

“Just thinking,” Catra says. She sounds… not sad, exactly. Contemplative, maybe? Adora leans onto the railing next to her, feeling the cold of the stone bringing her more sharply to wakefulness. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” 

“Thinking about us,” Catra says, face still lifted to the star-filled night sky. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna talk about it?” At this, Catra turns and looks at Adora, clearly unsure about whether not she wants to talk about it. “No pressure,” Adora adds. Catra looks back up at the sky and takes a deep breath, which Adora reads as a signal that if she waits quietly, Catra will open up. Sure enough, after a moment she starts talking; it comes out soft and breathy, like she’s telling a bedtime story to the stars.

“I spent all that time after you left thinking that all I wanted was for things to go back to the way they were. I’d think it over and over and over again - if only we could turn back time, if only I could just live forever in those days together, before everything went wrong and you left. Once I realized you weren’t coming back, I… it made me angry, that you’d taken that from me. I wanted it back so bad that it felt like something that had been stolen from me, and that everything would be okay if I could just get it back somehow. And then…” 

She trails off, and Adora waits, allowing her to take her time. It’s chilly out here at night in her underwear, but she doesn’t dare go back inside to get another layer. After a pause, Catra continues.

“And then you rescued me from Horde Prime. And I didn’t want to believe it at first, that I’d gotten it back that easily - that I could _have_ it back, what we’d had before, if I just got over myself and stopped lashing out. Once I admitted that it was right there, our old life, our old friendship, just waiting for me to let it happen… I couldn’t believe how easily we fell back into place. It felt so right, it felt so comfortable. It was just like when we were kids, teasing each other and showing off for each other and touching in all these little ways like we used to. And I was so happy, at first.” A light breeze blows past, and like they’re synchronized they both push their loose hair back out of their faces. 

“And then I realized,” Catra says quietly, “that it wasn’t enough. That it had never really, truly been enough. I spent all that time desperately wanting to go back to the way things were, and then when I finally had that, I realized that it was unbearable. Falling in love with you all over again, getting to be near you and smell you all the time and touch you all the time… and all the while being so sure it was going nowhere, that my feelings were one-sided and always had been, and always would be - “ she takes a breath, then heaves a bitter sigh. “It felt like all that time wishing had been a waste. I couldn’t believe I’d been carrying the hope of getting back to where we were before for so long, only to finally get it and realize it wasn’t going to make me happy.” Adora wants to reach out, wants to hold her, but she isn’t sure what the right thing to say is. 

“I might never have said anything,” Catra continues eventually, “if you hadn’t been about to die. I couldn’t just leave you, when I realized how much danger you were in. I’d thought it would be better if I just walked away from you, when I realized that going back to our old dynamic was just going to make me miserable, but I ended up going back anyways.”

“You really didn’t know I loved you,” Adora breathes in surprise. “Bow and Glimmer were teasing me for being really obvious about it, after we got you back from Prime.” Catra gives a bitter little laugh.

“I never thought in a million years you’d ever see me that way.” Adora mentally curses Shadow Weaver for the absolute wreckage she made of Catra’s self-esteem as a child. 

“Well, I do.” Adora says. She joins Catra in looking up at the sky. “What’s got you thinking about all that?” 

“That conversation at the party, about people’s hopes and dreams and stuff.” 

“I’d wondered if you were actually sleeping.” Adora quirks a smile at her. 

“I was dozing off and on,” Catra says defensively. “Enough to follow the gist of what people were talking about. I just… I dunno, it’s weird to think that you can want something so badly, and then you get it, and you find out it isn’t what you wanted at all.”

“Maybe the lesson isn’t that you shouldn’t want things, but that you should be honest with yourself about what you _really_ want.”

“Maybe the _lesson_ is that there are no lessons, and sometimes things just suck.” Catra grumps. A heartbeat later, she says: “Thanks for listening. I don’t know if it… means anything, or whatever. It was just sort of... on my mind.” 

“Hey,” Adora says, reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair out of Catra’s eyes, “you can always talk to me about anything.” Catra tilts her head, pressing her cheek into Adora’s palm. Adora smiles, brushing her thumb along Catra’s jaw like she’s longed to do a thousand times before. She can’t bring herself to say the thought she’s been fighting since the final battle: that it doesn’t feel safe to dream yet - that it won’t feel safe until she’s sure Prime isn’t coming back. “Kinda cold out here,” she remarks, “ready to go inside?”

“Yeah,” Catra says, hopping down off the railing.

“Do you think _everybody_ knew that we liked each other except for us?” Adora wonders out loud, as they head back towards bed.

“Yeah,” Catra chuckles, “Maybe. Guess we’re both idiots.”


	13. Slow Morning

**Catra**

Birds. She hears birds.

Her face feels warm, her shoulder too; ah - it’s a beam of morning light. 

Smell. She smells an unfamiliar place, but a familiar person. Adora. 

Should she open her eyes, and discover what she’ll see? Maybe. Maybe she’ll stay in bed a while longer. She breathes in, shifting and stretching, rolling to catch more of the moons’ rays. It splashes luxuriantly across her chest and wraps a patch of heat around her thigh. 

It’s nice. So nice. The sheets are soft. She feels them shift, feels the mattress beneath her yield to accommodate someone else moving in the bed. Adora. 

Without straining, she can hear Adora’s soft breathing, the pulse of her heart. It feels good to wake up to that sound again. It feels like home. 

Well, alright then, she decides. She’ll open her eyes. 

Adora is waiting there for her, propped up on an arm, already awake and watching her with a little smile. 

“Good morning,” Adora says. Catra hums thoughtfully. 

“Yeah,” she says, “I guess it is, isn’t it.” Adora just keeps looking at her with that dopey smile. “What?” 

“Just thinking about kissing you,” Adora says, somehow managing to sound both bashful and self-assured.

“You should stop thinking about it and just kiss me, then,” Catra says. She wiggles a little in the bed to adjust which part of herself is being warmed by the light flooding in the windows, at the same time tilting her face up to Adora and offering it to her with sleepy pleasure. Adora leans in and fulfills the request with such tenderness, Catra is half convinced she’s still asleep and just having a very, very nice dream. She closes her eyes again and lifts a hand to cup Adora’s face as they lazily kiss, losing her fingertips in Adora’s curtain of long blonde hair, feeling the ends of it tickling her neck. When they stop, Adora giggles breathily and presses their foreheads together. Catra takes another indulgently deep inhale, enjoying the simple comfort of being immersed in the smell of the person she loves more than anything in the world. “You’re cute,” she murmurs, charmed by Adora’s tentative touch. 

“ _You’re_ cute,” is her only rebuttal to that, which just makes Catra smile. She runs her fingers through Adora’s loose hair, brushing it back just for the pleasure of touching her. To her satisfaction, it makes Adora close her eyes like she’s enjoying it just as much as Catra is. Encouraged, Catra smooths the hair back on one side of Adora’s head over and over, fighting a losing battle against gravity with no intention of ever claiming victory. The real victory, she thinks, is the way Adora leans into the touch and allows her face to go slack. “You know what’s a nice thought?” Adora says, without opening her eyes. 

“What?” 

“Both Bow and Glimmer were still awake and still drinking when I took you to bed. They’ll probably sleep in late today.” 

“That _is_ a nice thought,” Catra says, half listening and half entranced by Adora’s expression of bliss. “And we don’t have anything we’re supposed to be doing today?”

“Nothing I can think of.” Adora cracks her eyes open, puts her hand over top of Catra’s hand in her hair, strokes her thumb across Catra’s knuckles. “Glimmer will invent something at some point, but she can’t do that while she’s sleeping off a hangover.” Catra huffs a laugh at this, sliding her hand from the side of Adora’s head down to her chin. 

“Does that mean you’re all mine until then?” She hears Adora’s heart pick up pace at the question. 

“All yours,” she confirms. “What do you think we should get up to?” Sounds like she’s got a few ideas in mind that she’s hoping Catra will be down for, from the thump of her pulse. 

“I know this… probably sounds stupid, after what we did the day before yesterday,” Catra says, “but if we’ve got the time, I was kind of hoping we could… I dunno, start slow, and figure it out as we go?” She knows she’s blushing. “Since I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“We can take things as slow as you want,” Adora says, sounding way more serious than Catra meant to make things. 

“I mean, I _want -”_ What does she want, exactly? She wants everything, she wants to be touched all over and to touch Adora in every possible way, wants to make Adora gasp and writhe with pleasure, wants to have her and possess her and care for her and make her understand, somehow, the depth of her feelings. She’s wanted that - wanted _Adora_ \- for so long. “I want to feel like I’m not in a hurry. Like I’m allowed to take my time, not like - like I’m expecting you to be taken away from me again at any moment.” As she says it, she realizes that was part of what was driving her urgency, that afternoon. Mingled in with years of desire was the sense that she could lose Adora as soon as she’d managed to find her, and she needed to seize what she could while she could. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Adora says, taking Catra’s hand from her face and wrapping both of her own hands around it. “You know you mean the world to me, right? I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” Those words seem to resonate through Catra, invoking years and years of friendship, of trust, of unspoken love. It’s like she can hear every version of Adora saying it all at once, and suddenly - for the first time in her life - start to believe that what she’s saying might actually be true. She’s struck silent for a moment by the intensity of the feeling, and when she recovers it feels like no reply could possibly be good enough. Catra holds tight to Adora’s hands, pushing down the voice inside of her that’s saying _you don’t deserve this,_ and uses her grip on Adora to pull herself up and kiss her again. 

“I will _never,”_ she murmurs against Adora’s lips between kisses, “get tired of hearing you say that.” Adora gives a sweet, goofy little laugh, and then lowers Catra back into the bed and swoops in for more kisses. It’s a simple, wonderful feeling, Adora’s body over hers as they kiss in the glow of warm morning moonbeams. 

As promised, they take their time just enjoying each other, touching idly and exploring at a gentle pace. Catra allows herself to run her hands over all the parts of Adora she’s spent years coveting from afar - the edge of her jaw, the curl of her ear, the elegant line of her neck and the solid strength of her shoulders. Adora laughs when Catra kisses her eyebrows, gasps when she kisses the hollow of her throat, sighs happily when she kisses her wrists and knuckles. Then the time comes when Adora seems to decide it’s her turn, and Catra lies back in a state of soft-edged wonder as Adora maps the landmarks of her body with light touches and even lighter kisses. Somewhere around Catra’s stomach, having placed the most recent kiss just south of the edge of Catra’s tank top, she says:

“You have more scars than I remember.” 

“I’m surprised you even notice them,” Catra says, stroking her fingers through Adora’s hair. “I forget they’re there, a lot of the time.” One of the advantages of having fur, she supposes. “And you’re one to talk.” Of course, she’s noticed a significant number of the thin raised lines across Adora’s body come in perfect sets of four. She’s not the only one who’s ever hurt Adora, but she’s done her fair share. Adora answers this by placing another kiss on Catra’s stomach, following some unknown path to her side, and kissing there. Catra’s starting to feel quite pleasantly warm and tingly. 

She basks in Adora’s attention for as long as she can stand it, and then when it’s too much to endure without reciprocating she reaches down and redirects Adora’s face back up to her own so that she can kiss her again, a definite shudder of hunger in her grasp now. Adora responds to the heat of the kiss, cupping Catra’s jaw with one hand while her other arm stabilizes her. Feeling like there’s too much empty air between them, Catra arches her hips up as they kiss - her thigh brushes between Adora’s, and though they’re both still wearing underwear Adora inhales sharply at the contact. 

“That okay?” Catra breathes, pulling back from the kiss to make sure Adora’s alright. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, voice low and face flushed. She moves her own hips against Catra’s, renewing the pressure and friction between them, and Catra gives a heady huff of her own at the feeling. Catra closes her eyes and loses herself in kissing Adora while they rock their hips together, one hand tangled in her hair and the other grasping at her back. She feels Adora withdrawing the hand she’s got on Catra’s face and only has time for a brief flutter of disappointment before Adora slips her arm under Catra’s lower back, lifting her waist up off the bed so that they can grind together without Catra having to keep her back arched. The smooth action combined with the casual demonstration of Adora’s upper body strength is one of the most effective instant turn-ons Catra’s ever been subject to.

“Show off,” She whimpers, before pressing another heated kiss to Adora’s mouth. Her hips sandwiched firmly between Adora’s forearm and Adora’s thigh, Catra can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. Her whole world is consumed by sensation, and the very concept of thinking seems to slip away. It’s just pure, visceral indulgence - something she could never have imagined being able to give in to so wholly and so easily. She doesn’t have to worry about anything except enjoying how nice it is to be wrapped in Adora’s embrace, feeling the intensity of the glow inside her growing steadily with each brush of their bodies together. It’s all so much, she can’t take it all in at once - the firm points of Adora’s fingertips pressing into her side, the burst of breath against her face during Adora’s exhalations, the periodic graze of their chests against one another, the constant building pressure of their thighs slotted together and providing that wonderful friction.

“Catra,” Adora gasps, pulling her face away and turning her mouth’s attention to Catra’s neck. Catra’s only response to this is a mindless sound of approval; she tosses her head back into the pillow and snatches whimpering lungfuls of air as Adora leaves a blazing trail of brilliant sensation from below her ear and down to her jaw. How Adora is still holding her up and pulsing their hips together while doing this is beyond Catra’s comprehension. The intensity and sincerity of Adora’s touch is so unquestionable it almost, _almost_ makes Catra cry. Adora _wants_ her. She _really wants her._ When Adora’s mouth follows the line of one of her collar bones and meets the edge of Catra’s top, the thought of fabric between them, denying Adora access to any part of her, is too much to bear.

“Lemme get this shirt off,” Catra rasps, trying to refocus her vision and remember how to form sentences.

“Okay,” Adora says, sounding a little happily dazed herself, and lowers Catra’s hips back down to the mattress, extricating herself so that Catra has room to sit up. Adora sits back and Catra can fully appreciate how pink she’s turned - not just her face but all the way down her neck and shoulders, too. Catra meets her eyes and feels herself smiling again. It’s been a long, long time since she’s smiled this easily and this much. Adora’s gaze is nakedly reverent, her breath and heart rate still loud and heavy from making out. As Catra pulls the shirt up and over her head and tosses it to the floor, she can feel Adora’s eyes on her. She feels herself turning bashful at the way Adora’s looking at her. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says flippantly, knowing her blush is giving her away. Adora swallows heavily. 

“Is it - can I - ?” She extends a hand tentatively towards Catra, as if they weren’t just engaged in heavy petting an instant ago. Fondness fills Catra to the brim. 

“Come here, you dork,” Catra answers, “I took it off for a _reason_ , you know.” Adora smiles at her - that blindingly earnest smile that she somehow never grew out of, the one that still manages to catch Catra off guard and make her fall a little more every time - and shuffles in closer. She starts by touching Catra’s face, holding her gaze for a moment, and then slides her hand down Catra’s neck and to her collar bone. Adora’s touch is leisurely, her expression full of marvel that Catra is absolutely sure she does not deserve. As those battle-roughened fingers travel down Catra’s sternum and find one of her breasts, she puts her own hand against Adora’s face, needing to be touching her in return. Adora’s eyes flick between Catra’s body and her face, probably checking in to make sure she’s still okay with this, or maybe watching her reaction. Adora’s thumb brushes across her nipple, exploratory and almost worshipful, and Catra inhales with the wonderful torment of it. This is what she gets, she supposes, for telling Adora she wanted to take it slow. Adora’s hand slides around and finds her side, mapping the shape of her ribcage, then flows down and ends in a solid grip on one hip bone. Punctuating this movement, Adora leans in and kisses Catra, slow and heady. 

Following the path of her initial touch, Adora’s mouth migrates from Catra’s lips and down to her jaw; Catra’s breath catches hard in her throat when Adora assertively turns Catra’s head to the side with a nudge of her chin, exposing more of her neck to her increasingly hungry kisses. Oh, she _likes_ assertive Adora. She arches happily into the contact, putting one hand behind herself on the bed for stability and the other in Adora’s hair. She looks down and drinks in the sight of Adora’s shoulders and arms as her mouth goes lower - and then Adora’s mouth finds one nipple and her hand comes up to wrap the other between thumb and forefinger, and Catra’s eyes are shut and her mouth is open with the sudden shaking gasp that escapes her as sensation thrills through her body.

Catra’s awareness narrows down to nothing but the teasing of Adora’s fingers and the heat of her mouth, graze of her teeth, soft solidity of her tongue. She bucks and whimpers as Adora dedicates her full attention to her nipples, thoughts of _good, it feels so good_ coming in relentless waves. She grips Adora by the hair like she’ll fall to her death if she lets go, barely registering the aroused exhale this pulls from Adora in between the sweet, blissful movements of her mouth. Fuck, she’s already _so_ wet. It’s almost a relief when she feels Adora slow and then pull away - only to switch places with hand and mouth and hit Catra anew with more of the same as she grows increasingly sensitive. The maneuver makes her swear aloud, her voice sounding helpless and keening even to her own ears. She feels the vibration of Adora making a noise with her mouth still pressed to her breast - a smug, self-satisfied sound halfway between a hum and a groan that only serves to make Catra more turned on. It feels so incredible, until it’s almost too much, _too much_ , and she’s pushing Adora off of her so that she can tug breathlessly at Adora’s shirt. If Adora doesn’t get her damn shirt off right now Catra will rip it off her with her claws. 

Wordlessly, eyes full with eager compliance, Adora pulls the tank up and off and throws it so hard it ends up snagged on the top edge of the vanity mirror across the room. Wasting no time, Catra pushes Adora back into the bed and pins her there, feeling like she’s burning up inside and the only cure is the sound of Adora’s needy gasps. She covers Adora’s body with her own, relishing the feeling of their bare torsos touching, and kisses urgently down her neck. As she does this, she rakes her claws down Adora’s rib cage with just enough pressure for Adora to feel it without breaking the skin. The noise of whimpering surrender she makes is a thing of purest beauty, of wild eroticism. 

She feels Adora’s hands settle on her back as she stakes her claim, marking Adora as hers with kisses that are so toothy as to almost be bites. She only softens her touch when she reaches Adora’s breasts, being more careful with her fangs once she’s seized a nipple and is less sure of how much rough treatment would be enjoyable and how much would be unpleasant. Adora is making more wonderful noises beneath her, her blunt nails biting harmlessly into Catra’s shoulders. Encouraged, Catra sets herself to the task of returning all the attention Adora gave her and more. All the while, an incredulous voice in the back of her mind keeps repeating _can this really be real, am I actually doing this with Adora?_

Once Adora is reduced to a whimpering mess and Catra is satisfied she’s repaid her in full, she decides she wants to do a little exploration of her own. She kisses her way down Adora’s stomach and feels Adora’s hands shift from her shoulders to her head. As she gets lower, the scent of Adora becomes louder and more demanding in her senses, no longer a peripheral observation but an imperative, bolded and underlined. It’s a potent, exhilarating smell that has her kissing Adora’s hip through the fabric of her boxer shorts, a hand on her knee and her mind in a dizzying buzz. Only half sure of what she’s doing, Catra draws a line with her mouth from Adora’s hip bone to her thigh, listening carefully to the tenor of her gasps and the tension of her muscles for any sign that Adora wants her to stop. When Adora says nothing about this testing of the waters, Catra forces herself to pull away, to look up and meet her eyes.

“Is this okay?” she says, with a definite hitch in her voice. “I can stop - we - we can do something else.” 

“It’s _so_ okay,” Adora whispers, blinking hard and taking a breath before she can continue. “Are _you_ okay with it? You don’t have to.”

“I _want_ to,” Catra says, so fast the words almost slur together. She wants to, desperately. 

“You’re sure?” Adora says, seeming almost surprised by Catra’s ardor. 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Catra replies breathily, and then finishes this statement by resting her chin smugly right on Adora’s stomach, tantalizingly close to where she actually wants her mouth to be right now. That gets the reaction she’s hoping for - a surprised huff of breath, a blushing but enthusiastic grin. “Can I take off your underwear?” Catra purrs, taking advantage of the surge in confidence that grin makes her feel. It’s a further boost to her pride when Adora’s choked reply is to turn even more red and to nod yes with such fervor she’s half surprised the bed doesn’t shake in its frame. 

  
  


Adora raises her hips and Catra slips her fingers below the elastic band of the boxers. She makes eye contact with Adora, and hopes that she’ll be able to keep the sight of her looking like this - nervous, excited, vulnerable, eager - stored in her memory forever. Then she slides the underwear down past her waist, down over her knees. Adora kicks them off the rest of the way over her ankles, and then they’re gone, and Adora is naked and flushed and _hers_ , all hers. Feeling the edges of nervousness starting to encroach on her confidence, Catra settles herself between Adora’s legs and orients herself by starting with a kiss to her hip bone. The scent of her this close is utterly intoxicating, and actually works to counter some of her nerves. She flicks another quick glance up at Adora’s face; she’s splayed back in the bed with her chest heaving, her eyes closed and hands lightly grasping at the pillows. She’s unbearably beautiful. Catra loves her so, so damn much. 

Trying to keep that thought in mind instead of the creeping insecurities about this being her first time, Catra slides her hands up the outsides of Adora’s thighs, kissing from one side of her waist to the other, working up her courage. She finds the fine, fair line of hairs that start at Adora’s navel and lead downwards and follows them to where they become a darker, courser texture. Adora gasps and Catra smiles reflexively against her, turning her head to place a hot open-mouthed kiss against the divot where her leg meets her body. That, too, earns a sound of tightly-wound, anticipatory pleasure. Catra thinks about drawing this out, about taking as long as she possibly can to give Adora what she wants, but her eyes are drawn to just how slick with need Adora is, and suddenly she can think of nothing else. She lightly settles her mouth and nose into the thatch of hair above where she knows she’s wanted most, and then goes lower, lower, until her mouth finds softly yielding flesh. Adora jerks slightly, emits a choked moan. Catra presses her tongue against the warm wetness there, closing her eyes. Her first initial strokes seek to define where she is, what’s she’s feeling, and although Adora gasps and trembles at each gentle mapping of her vulva, nothing compares to the chest-deep, unguarded moan she makes when Catra zeroes in on her clit. 

Falling into an almost trance-like state, Catra settles her weight on her elbows and presses her whole face in firmly against Adora, breathing exclusively through her nose and using her own body weight to maintain a consistent pressure. Using the sound of Adora’s reactions and the quaking of her core as her guide, Catra slowly tries to figure out what she’s doing, starting with only her own overwhelming desire for Adora and the snippets of gossip and girl-talk she’s overheard in the barracks over the years. A soft press of her tongue gets a soft sound, soft reaction - a hard flick in a random zig-zag pattern gets irregular, sharp whimpers. It isn’t until she tries pulsing that she gets another one of those deep, uninhibited groans out of Adora, and even then it isn’t until she tries a circular motion that she’s able to get consistent, escalating tremors. 

It takes trial and error, and lots of attentiveness, but eventually she finds a rhythm - a pressure, a pattern, and a speed - that have Adora writhing and gasping and bucking beneath her. It’s a blissful, deeply satisfying victory - not like winning, not like conquering. It’s like… like the feeling of surprising someone with something they want - the joy of giving, the thrill of knowing you’re making someone you care about feel good. She keeps it up as long as she can and then, to her surprise, realizes her tongue is _getting tired_. That’s not something she ever heard anybody talking about as a potential problem. Her rhythm falters, and Adora’s reactions lose their edge of intensity. She tries a couple different variations, trying to recapture that perfect sequence, frustrated to have lost it. Finally she stumbles across the realization that she can just keep her tongue still and move her entire body instead, a counterintuitive concept that - bafflingly - seems to work. 

She keeps adjusting variables - more pressure? Less speed? Tighter circles? - until finally she’s got Adora back to non stop shaking and gasping. She pushes Adora further and further, revelling at last in feeling like she knows what she’s doing. Adora’s bucking becomes increasingly frantic, her whimpers turning to tight bursts of sound. _Come on_ , Catra thinks, _come on_ , urgently wanting to give Adora the mind-wiping release of climax - and then the wild thrashes stop, replaced by perfect silence, perfect stillness, and a whole body tremble at a frantic speed. Catra doesn’t stop through all of this, and the taut frozen quaking lasts one second, two seconds, three seconds, before Adora lets out a loud cry and then collapses to the bed in a way that definitely seems like she’s done. Catra at last draws away, giving her face a quick wipe before crawling up in bed to settle in next to Adora, already purring loudly.

“Good?” Catra murmurs. Adora immediately turns to face Catra and cuddle up against her, expression dazed and breath still fast and heavy. Catra brushes a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes and then wraps her arms around her.

“Yeah,” Adora manages to say with some effort, pressing her face into Catra’s chest. “I love you,” she whispers. 

“Like I said… I’ll never get tired of hearing that.” She feels Adora smile dorkily against her, and softens. “I love you too.” At this, Adora emerges from her hiding place against Catra’s chest and presses a kiss to Catra’s mouth, clearly unconcerned about where it’s just been. Catra gets over her surprise quickly enough to return the kiss, swimming in a number of positive emotions she’s feeling hard-pressed to name right now. Good. It’s just a lot of good, so good. “Wanna take a little nap?” She asks, when Adora goes back to tucking her head in under Catra’s chin. 

“Mmmhmmmm,” is Adora’s reply. Catra smiles indulgently, and pulls herself away from Adora just long enough to tug the blanket up over the both of them. They settle into each other, Catra wrapped around Adora like she can protect her from the entire universe and its mysterious, unknown threats, and blissfully go back to sleep.


	14. Return to the Flagship

**Wrong Hordak**

“We welcome and honor the latest of our brothers to have chosen a name for himself.” He places his hands on the shoulders of the brother who stands at the center of the crowd, displaying physical signs of nervousness at being the center of attention. “A slave no longer, before you stands an individual. His thoughts are his own, and his choices free.”

“His thoughts are his own, and his choices free!” The crowd echoes, and this makes the preacher, who has yet to take a name for himself, feel strangely pleasant inside. He smiles brightly, an expression he deeply favors for its inherent positive impact on his own mental state, and the reactions it seems to garner from others. 

“It is my pleasure to introduce you to - “ he is about to reach his favourite part of this recently invented ritual, speaking the brother’s chosen name that he may hear himself called that name by all the onlookers for the first time, when a voice interrupts. 

“Stop this vile display of disobedience at once!” Ah, and here they come. The faction of loyalists, determined to disrupt their new freedom. It’s unfathomable to him, how they continue to cling to Prime. 

“Prime is dead, brothers,” he tells them, giving the almost-named clone a squeeze of the shoulders which brother Bow has assured him is a way to bolster the spirits in another person, and soothe their fears. He puts himself front and center, for he knows he is the true target of the loyalists’ ire. “He was not all-powerful, not all-knowing. He was a liar, and his greatest lie of all was that he loved us.” 

“His return is inevitable,” the loyalist says. A quick count - there are perhaps ten of them. Not enough to do any damage, to be any threat. “We have come to attempt to reason with you one final time. Prime knows _all_ \- even if you have convinced yourself he cannot hear your thoughts, he is listening, even now, and those who have faltered in their faith will be discarded for the defects that they are. Repent, brothers, and return to the light of Prime’s protection!”

“Your rhetoric is baseless. The evidence of my claims lies all around us, and persists day after day. What evidence is there for your faith? _None_.” 

“You discard thousands of years of evidence in your fondness for individuality. Your foolish games of vanity have led so many once-virtuous brothers to darkness, to chaos. Was your time in service of Prime so insincere, that a few days of waiting for his return leave you shaken?”

“Enough! You interrupt a moment of joy to try to sow discord. _You_ are the one bringing chaos.”

“I am not anyone,” the loyalist utters, with a smirk. He raises his hands outwards and speaks now to the gathered crowd. “I am one of many. We, the Nameless Faithful, will not follow pretenders into anarchy. He has presented himself as the only one among us with certainty of the correct path to take forward. We come to you now to speak the _real_ truth: that Horde Prime is destined to return, and those of us who once were his dearest beloved will be the ones who ensure that he does. He never abandoned us; we must not abandon him.” 

“Leave,” the preacher says, his smile firmly a frown. “You are not welcome here.”

“We thought your favourite principle was that of doubt!” The loyalist laughs. “Does it only sting of insolence now that it has been turned upon you?” The preacher regards his brothers, and wonders how many doubt. He cannot hear them, has not been able to hear them for a long time, and so he is uncertain of the tally. There is no easy consensus, no clear and instant decision-making of the right course of action as arrived at by the hivemind. 

“ _Leave,_ ” he says again, more firmly, “or there will be violence.”

“We will leave, lost little brother. But do not be surprised if others choose to leave as well.” The Loyalists melt back into the shadows; he performs a frantic scan of the crowd of his followers. There - one clone who only yesterday named himself Oak Leaf, face aghast with shame, slips away after them. He does not know how to stop this from happening. He does not know how to lead, how to control - he came to them to free them, to give them access to the revelation he’d already had, but without the ability to share his thoughts directly, they cannot really, _truly_ trust what he says. 

_Goodbye, Oak Leaf_ , he thinks, feeling an unpleasant, heavy sense of failure deep inside his chest cavity. _I am sorry._ He shall have to ask brother Bow or brother Entrapta for some guidance, when he sees them in the morning for their mission to the flagship. Although he has never shared minds with them, he has been able to trust them utterly. What knowledge do they possess on how to attain that effect for himself? 

  
  


**Bow**

“Now, remember, Entrapta, we need to stay focused on this mission. I know you’re really excited about all the cool tech we might find up there that we can use, but we really just need to concentrate on getting any proof one way or another about the possibility of Prime making backup consciousnesses.”

“I’ll try,” she says, not sounding sincere at all. 

“Especially since you yourself said you’re not sure these air tanks you’ve built into the suits can last longer than a couple of hours.”

“Three! I’m confident they’ll last three, and uncertain of how much we’ll be able to get out of them beyond that. In fact, since we have Glimmer to just teleport us back to down to the surface instantaneously, I was hoping we could stay _beyond_ the three hours, for the purpose of testing and gathering more data.”

“No,” Glimmer says, her expression dire, “we are _not_ staying on that ship for a _second_ more than we absolutely have to.” 

“Well, you could just leave me there, and I could reach you via comm signal when I’ve started running out of air and need to be collected!”

“Entrapta - “ Bow nearly screeches in frustration, “we are _not_ leaving you up there to wait for your _air to run out!_ What if there was a problem with the comms? You could die!” 

“That _is_ a non-zero possibility, yes!” She says this without so much as a dent in the bright smile she’s been wearing all day. Bow knew she’d be excited to get to go explore the flagship, but he seriously underestimated just how excited - she’s even made customized space suits for both Hordak and Wrong Hordak, neither of which apparently _need_ them to survive for three hours in empty space. Wrong Hordak has tried to explain it to him several times now, but all he’s really grasped is that their bodies can handle ‘very thin air’ indefinitely, and ‘empty air’ for a while, but that Etherians are used to ‘thick air’ and can’t survive with less than that. He’ll have to get the more detailed science lesson later, when Glimmer isn’t standing three feet away quaking with nerves and shooting him glares that say she wants to just hurry up and get this all over with.

“I still do not understand why _he_ is coming,” Hordak snarls, pointing a talon at Wrong Hordak. 

“Brother Entrapta requested my assistance,” Wrong Hordak answers brightly. “She saved me from the darkness of Prime’s lies. I am always happy to help her in any way I can.” Hordak bares his teeth at Wrong Hordak’s upbeat answer and then opens his mouth to say something else, but isn’t given the chance.

“Settle down,” Catra snaps at him, already visibly agitated and looking like she’s just waiting for an excuse to hit Hordak with the quarterstaff she insisted on bringing along. It doesn’t seem like she wants to be going back to the flagship any more than Glimmer does. 

“Catra,” Bow says, pulling her aside and keeping his voice low, “you know you don’t _have_ to come with us if you don’t want to.”

“Sparkles obviously doesn’t want to go either, but she’s still going.”

“We’d be waiting weeks for Entrapta to finish work on the ship if we wanted to get up there without Glimmer’s help. We need her.”

“Well, you need me too,” Catra retorts sharply. “None of you even recognized Hordak at that party. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know how to read him, and if he decided to betray you up there, none of you would know it until he had you half way out the airlock. I’m _going with you_.” Bow raises his hands in defeat, sends a quick glance at Adora and frowns. She gives him a little imperceptible shrug, as if to say, _you tried_. 

“Okay,” he concedes, “but please say something if you’re getting freaked out and need to go back?” 

“I am not _freaked out_ ,” she snarls, clearly freaked out. Her gaze slides over Bow’s shoulder to where Hordak is. “What are _you_ looking at?!” Bow is enormously relieved when Adora approaches and takes over the task of trying to calm Catra down. 

“Is everybody ready?” Glimmer asks through gritted teeth.

“One second!” Entrapta says, zipping Hordak and then Wrong Hordak up into their spacesuits - one conveniently decorated with red piping and the other with green - and pressing a data pad into each clone’s hands. “Here are your tech shopping lists, I’ve given each of you different priorities so that we can maximize our productivity while up there. Your suits are custom made with _extra_ pockets, so that you can bring back as _much_ raw tech as possible.” 

“Entrapta, that _isn’t_ the point of this mission,” Bow reiterates. Wrong Hordak happily sticks his hands into each of his six cargo pockets one by one, smiling at the abundance of storage potential. Hordak sulks like a toddler who is being forced against his will to wear socks, batting away Entrapta’s hair as she fusses with the fit. 

“Okay, now I’m ready!” Entrapta declares, plunking on her helmet and completely ignoring Bow. With a heavy sigh, Bow gives up on trying to redirect her intense energy and pulls on his own helmet. 

“Helmets on! Everybody gather in!” Adora and Catra tug on and seal their own helmets - Bow is _never_ going to get over how cute those ears on Catra’s helmet are - and then the seven of them are ready, clustered around Glimmer. “Here we go. Three! Two! One!” She tenses her whole body like she’s about to get hit by the shockwave of an explosion, and then they’re teleporting. 

**Adora**

The most immediately obvious difference between Prime’s flagship now and what it was before the battle for the Heart of Etheria is not, like she’d expected, all the greenery growing through it - it’s the fact that they’re all floating weightlessly. 

“Oh, _fascinating!”_ Entrapta hisses, her voice coming through the comm system in Adora’s helmet even though she’s only a few feet away. “Whatever artificial gravity field Prime had set up must have been disrupted by the plant growth.” Entrapta is already using her hair to move effortlessly through the corridors, rushing face-first into whatever might be waiting for them. “Oh, I’ve _missed_ zero G. Maybe I’ll just leave it like this when I get it back working again. Hordak, Wrong Hordak, come on!” And just like that, while Bow stammers in all their ears via the comms, Entrapta is gone around a corner with a laugh. 

“Hey, wait up!” Glimmer yells. They all fumble awkwardly after Entrapta, significantly less confident about how to move in this strange, nauseating new environment. Catra grabs a tree branch as a handhold and yanks hard, shooting ahead in her determination to stay as close as possible to Hordak, but then shrieks a moment later as she realizes she can’t slow her speed easily and slams into a wall.

“Catra!” Adora yells - needlessly, she realizes, with the helmet’s microphone pickup just inches from her face - “Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine,_ just don’t let Hordak out of your sight.” 

“First stop, server room. Oh, Wrong Hordak, whatever that is right there, you see it! Put that in your pocket!” Entrapta may be long gone, but her voice is still being piped right into their helmets. 

“Entrapta, slow down,” Bow pleads, doing a slow midair somersault in a direction that is clearly not the one he intends to be going in. 

“Okay, everybody just _calm down_ ,” Adora tries. Catra’s started using her quarterstaff to propel and direct herself through the tree-entwined corridors and is now gaining ground on Entrapta and her clone entourage. “Bow, I’m gonna try to stabilize you.” 

“Okay,” he says uncertainly. Using her legs to grip onto a tree limb that has burst through one of the wall panels, Adora grabs Bow’s shoulders and tries to stop his spinning. It takes more core strength than she’d expected it to, but she manages to get him upright. Okay, one problem solved. 

“Glimmer, you okay?” She says, looking back over her shoulder to where Glimmer is sticking stubbornly to the walls, climbing the foliage rather than risking the disorientation of the open air. 

“I’m fine,” she says stiffly. 

“We’ll never catch up to Entrapta moving that way,” Adora says, glancing after Catra and realizing with an unhappy clench in her chest that Catra’s nowhere to be seen. _Shit._ They’ve managed to get separated. “Glimmer, try letting go of the trees and using them as a handhold to propel yourself forward.”

“I can’t,” Glimmer says, panic creeping into her voice. 

“You’re fine, Glimmer, everything is fine,” Bow says, reaching for her across the space between them. “Just breathe.” 

“Yes, I recommend trying to slow your breathing,” Entrapta says cheerfully into their earpieces, “the rate at which you deplete your tank’s air reserves will be much higher than what I calculated for if you suck it all back at the rate you’re currently at!”

“Entrapta,” Bow says tersely, “that isn’t helping.” 

“Oh, Hordak, grab me that thingy, will you??” 

“Entrapta,” Catra’s voice snarls through their helmets, “do _not_ lose sight of Hordak. I’m right behind you. I can’t follow your scent trail because of this damn helmet so if you lose him, it’s going to be just about impossible to find him again in this stupid floating jungle.” 

“Everybody shut up!!” Glimmer screams into their heads, “Shut up, shut up!! I’m going to hurl my guts if you don’t give me a minute!” Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Adora pushes off from the tree, gently collecting Bow on her way, and floats them both over to where Glimmer is. She wraps her best friends up in a hug, and says nothing. Glimmer clutches at her like the world is ending, but after one breath, two breaths, three, four, she seems to calm down a little. 

“Feel better?” Adora asks gently. 

“Yeah,” Glimmer says, the word coming out in a sigh.

“Glimmer, I was thinking,” Bow says, “do you think you could use your magic to propel yourself forward?”

“My magic? Like this?” Still holding on to their little floating friend cluster with one arm, Glimmer extends the other hand. The familiar glisten of her magical energy encases her hand - she pushes the burst out and away from herself, like she would when smacking an enemy with it, and it gives them a little push that starts them drifting in the opposite direction from the blast. “Oh. Oh! Bow, you’re a _genius!_ I love you so much.”

“Euch,” Hordak retches into their ears. Adora had almost managed to forget he was listening to every word they said. Unperturbed by the commentary, Glimmer gets a bright grin on her face.

“Hold on, guys.”

“Wait, Glimmer - “ is all Adora manages to say, and then they’re careening down the corridors after Catra and the others at top speed, Glimmer laughing with an almost malicious glee as she maneuvers them with blasts of magic. Leaves and branches slap at their suits and helmets as they shoot down the hallways.

“Glimmer, left,” Bow somehow manages to say, watching a blinking light on his tracker pad. “I see Entrapta and the Hordaks.” 

“Wait,” Adora says, wincing as another branch whips against the faceplate of her helmet and having to hold tight as Glimmer twirls them around to face this new direction, “What about Catra? Where’s Catra?” 

“Adora?” Catra’s voice comes through, sounding distant and afraid. 

“I’m coming, Catra - just stay where you are, okay?” No response. “Bow, where is she?” She clambers over Glimmer to urgently grab at Bow’s tracker pad, both actions drawing protests from each of them in turn.

“Here, I’ll send you her coordinates,” Bow says, pushing back Adora’s grasping hand.

“Oh, are you going to test my in-helmet HUD?” Entrapta asks gleefully. “You can toggle the screens with the exterior buttons on the left side of the helmet. Let me know if you find any bugs, it’s still a work in progress!” 

“Coordinates sent,” Bow says. 

“You guys catch up with Entrapta and watch Hordak. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I find Catra.” She pushes off of Glimmer’s magical three-man-rocket, now only two, and grabs a passing vine to slow herself. She presses the buttons on the helmet until an overlay appears. Okay. Follow the blinking light. “Catra, are you there?” No response. Dammit, dammit, dammit. “Catra, I’m coming, okay? Just stay calm.” 

“The heart rate and respiratory statistics from her suit’s feed suggest she is definitely not calm right now,” Entrapta informs her, sounding distracted. “Wrong Hordak, come help me pry this open, would you?” Shit. Okay. She turns her head, and the blinking dot moves around the inside of the helmet like she’s sitting in the center of a compass. It’s unsettling, but enormously helpful. She pushes off the wall, pulling at passing branches and vines to pick up speed. 

“I’m coming, Catra,” she says again. Still no reply. Dammit. She _knew_ it was a bad idea to let Catra come on this mission. She should have insisted - should have put her foot down. Where could she have gone? Is it possible there’s still something _alive_ on this spaceship? “I’m on my way, Catra. Just talk to me. You’re not alone.”

She barely hears it over the thumping of her own heart and the crosstalk from the others, but she’s sure she isn’t imagining the terrified, trembling whisper.

“Adora?”


	15. Ricochet

**Adora**

The blinking light in her helmet’s HUD leads her down a hallway, through a breach in a wall panel, pushing aside branches and shrubs and drifting vines until she bursts out into a big, dark, empty chamber. 

“Catra!”

“You know, you really don’t need to yell,” Entrapta says in her ear. Adora’s momentum carries her out into the open space of the chamber and she just barely manages to grab the tips of a passing sapling before she’s out of reach of any handholds at all. It’s so dark in here, Adora can’t see anything. 

“Entrapta,” she hisses urgently into her comm, “do these suits have a like a - a flashlight or something on them?” 

“The switch on your left wrist,” she says, sounding distracted. “Oh, look at this cable system. It’s so elegant. Hordak, come over here and bring me the portable power source. Let’s get this baby running again and see what kind of secrets her file structure wants to tell me.” Trying to blot out Entrapta’s happy noises of productivity, Adora runs her hands blindly over the wrists of her suit until she finds the button. She presses it and a light clicks on, revealing the scope of this tree-choked chasm one six-foot-diameter piece at a time. All she can see is trees, smooth shining metal, and emptiness. There’s something familiar, she thinks, about what she’s picking out, but she can’t determine the whole of it from the faint beam of her single little flashlight. Her light crosses over something - _someone -_ floating in that vast dark. 

“Catra, is that you?” She asks, trying to keep the edge of panic out of her own voice. She thinks she can hear the ragged edge of breathing underneath all the chatter of her teammates. 

“Did you find her?” Bow asks urgently.

“I think so. Catra, I’m right here, okay? I’m coming. Just stay where you are.” Adora takes aim, keeping her light steadily on the floating figure, and then pushes off from the safety of the edge of the chamber and into the terrifyingly vacant interior. “Catra, do you see my light? I’m coming towards you,” she repeats, but still there’s no reply. She’s getting closer and closer, and increasingly certain that she’s found Catra. But why isn’t she moving? Why isn’t she responding? Could she have gotten knocked unconscious somehow? “Entrapta, what are the readings from Catra’s suit? There isn’t a problem with her air tank, is there?”

“You know, I’m trying to concentrate on - “

“ _Entrapta!”_ Adora snarls, uncharacteristically short-tempered. “Just answer the question!” Just a little closer, closer to that limp silhouette. 

“Her readings are still in line with what I said before - she’s _using_ more air, which means she’s breathing harder, but the tank’s reserves are holding up as expected. She still has _hours_ more air left.” 

“Catra, if you can hear me, _please_ just say something.” Something’s wrong with the shape of this person she’s drifting towards, Adora realizes. Even with her space suit, Catra isn’t that tall, that broad. She directs the beam of light, picking out the outline of splayed arms and legs, floating hair - no. That isn’t hair. “Fuck. Fuck!” 

“Adora, what’s wrong?” Glimmer blurts. “Is everything okay?” 

That isn’t Catra she’s drifting inexorably towards with no way to propel herself, no way to change direction. It’s _Prime_. Her flashlight picks out the distinctive three eyes on the right side of his face, staring dead out into the void of space. His neck is at an angle that a neck should never be at - his expression is one of surprise, or, perhaps, lack of any emotion at all. 

“Adora, talk to us,” Bow says. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m in - I’m in the big throne room thingy, I think,” she says. “I still don’t see Catra, but - but there’s a body in here, and I can’t - I can’t stop myself I’m - I’m floating right at him - !” 

“A corpse cannot hurt you, foolish child,” Hordak drawls into her ear, sounding pleased by her distress. “Truly, I am expected to believe _this_ is the hero of Etheria?” 

“ _Get out of my head!”_ Catra shrieks suddenly. Adora is still slowly and unstoppably drifting towards the horrible broken body of Prime’s favoured vessel, but her priority reasserts itself in an instant, and she pushes aside the clammy, creeping horror of her predicament. 

“Catra? Catra, where _are_ you?” She flashes her light around the enormous chamber, twisting her head around to follow the HUD tracker on Catra’s last known coordinates. Tree - tree - empty darkness - metal - tree - _there._ A huddled ball, crammed into a corner between a twisted section of support beam and a swath of enormous tree trunk. “I’ve got a visual on her,” Adora says. But the only problem is she’s going _the wrong way_ , and she doesn’t have a way to redirect her motion across the chamber. 

No, that’s not entirely true. She _does_ have a way. Turning her flashlight’s beam back in line with the path she started on, she forces herself to face the corpse. This is objectively the fastest way to correct her course, otherwise she’ll have to wait until she floats all the way to the other wall of the chamber, which could take several long minutes that she does _not_ want to leave Catra alone for. Stomach-churning details reveal themselves to the dancing of her light as she gets closer and steels herself for what she has to do. Prime’s face is gaunt in death, like he’s been left staked out in a desert to dry out. His pristine white clothing is unmarred; he died without shedding a single drop of blood. His mouth hangs open, and the weak blue glow of her flashlight actually passes _through_ his fangs, now translucent and protruding unnaturally, the gums shrunken and distorted around them. She wants to look away, wants to not be getting anywhere _near_ this thing, but she doesn’t have a choice. She has to get to Catra as fast as possible. She tries to harden herself against it as much as possible, to try to think of it like a training drill, like piloting a ship. 

Preparing to adjust course, she tells herself, in three… two… one. 

She coils her legs up under herself in preparation, reaching an arm out for Horde Prime’s dessicated vessel. _Don’t think, just act_. Her fingers close around the fabric of his robe; she pulls the weightless mass towards herself, sets her feet firmly against his chest. She aims herself into the darkness with her head, trusting the blinking tracker light in her HUD to point her correctly. Like a vile approximation of a dance, Adora and the corpse twirl. She waits for the rotation to position her on the right path, and then, fighting down the edges of her terror, she releases her hold on the robe and pushes off with her feet, launching herself off in the new direction. Prime’s corpse drifts off behind her, jettisoned like a sandbag, and finally, finally, Adora is on the right trajectory to get to Catra. 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she can hear Catra whispering now through the comms, “get out of my head, get out of my _head.”_

“Everybody, quiet. Entrapta,” Adora says into her headset, settling her flashlight on the distant huddled figure she’s sure must be Catra, “is there a way to make the helmet comms on, like, on like a different frequency, or something? So that she doesn’t have to listen to all the conversations happening at the same time?” There is a long, long pause. “Entrapta?”

“Oh, you said everybody quiet, I assumed you meant me, too. Yes, the comms devices can be switched from global to local, or turned off entirely, via the rocker switch just next to the button you used to activate your HUD. The default global setting is the up position, local is down position, and off is the neutral position. It’s pretty archaic, but I happened to have several rocker switches on hand while I was - “

“Okay, thank you Entrapta,” Adora says, cutting her off. “Now if everyone could please just be quiet for a bit, that would be _really_ helpful.” Adora can see her. That’s Catra. She _knows_ it is. She can see the panicked rise and fall of her breathing, even from here. 

“Catra, did you hear that?” She tries, carefully. “There’s a switch on the side of your helmet, okay? You can turn off the radio chatter. Nobody is in your head.” Adora watches Catra’s tightly curled silhouette, doesn’t see her make any move to touch the helmet or reach for the switch. Okay. Okay. That’s alright. 

“Adora, is - “ Glimmer starts tentatively. 

“Shh,” Adora interrupts. Obediently, Glimmer drops whatever she was about to ask. The comms fall silent. For another minute or so, Adora is alone in the void with just the beating of her own heart and the impossibly distant Catra the only thing she can see, only thing she can bear to focus on. It’s intimately familiar. But this time, she’s the one reaching for Catra, not the other way around. She wants to talk to her, to let Catra know it’ll be okay, that she’s on her way, but she doesn’t dare. Adora holds her breath the last ten feet, and then she’s there, wrapping herself around Catra’s trembling body, reaching for the switch on her helmet and toggling it from global to local, then doing the same for hers. 

“Adora?” Catra whimpers, finally moving, finally looking at her. 

“I’m here, Catra. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.” She can feel Catra’s lurching breaths through their embrace, even with two layers of space suits between them. 

“Adora, he’s here. Prime’s - Prime is - “ 

“I saw,” she says, holding Catra tight. They turn slowly through space in each others’ arms; Adora is mindful to keep them within grabbing distance of the nearest handhold. “It was just a body, Catra. Prime’s gone, he’s not in there anymore.”

“Just a body,” Catra repeats, like this is a comforting thing she can cling to, “just a body.” Then she tenses up. “But I _heard him_ , Adora, Adora we have to go, we have to _run_ , I _heard him_ in my head - “

“Catra, look at me. Focus on my face.” When Catra does, Adora can see she’s wild-eyed with fear. “That was Hordak, okay? You heard Hordak over the comm lines. Remember, we brought him with us? That’s why you have the quarterstaff. So you can smack him if he pulls anything.”

“Quarterstaff,” Catra repeats. “I lost - I lost it, I lost my quarterstaff, I - “

“It’s okay,” Adora says, “It’s not important, okay? It’s just a stick. There are plenty of other sticks in the world, yeah?” She’s hoping that’ll maybe get a chuckle, but Catra is frozen into her fear again. “But you remember having it, and you remember why you brought it.”

“Because - because Hordak is an untrustworthy piece of shit.“ Catra wheezes, starting to sound a little more like herself. Adora smiles at this, smiles at her, and doesn’t loosen her grip on Catra. 

“The voice you heard wasn’t Horde Prime. It was Hordak,” she reiterates, trying to sound as calm as possible, “and he was just making fun of me for being spooked by Prime’s body, just like you were, because he’s an asshole, okay?” 

“Okay. Just a body. It’s just a body.” Catra clings a little tighter to Adora. Her breathing starts to slow. She seems to shiver convulsively. The mission, as far as Adora’s concerned, is over. She’s going to get Catra back to Glimmer and they’re all going to teleport out of this horrible place and they can sit down and make a better plan for how to dig through it for information that doesn’t involve chasing Entrapta down random twisting hallways and getting separated. A plan that doesn’t involve Catra subjecting herself to this because she thinks she needs to protect Adora. 

“I’m right here,” she says, twining her fingers through Catra’s. This seems to help; Catra gives a great, shuddering inhale, then a big exhale. She’s glad they’re off the global comms line so that they don’t have to hear whatever Entrapta’s idle remark would be about the air consumption of that particular sequence of breaths. “You’re okay. You’re safe. He’s never going to get anywhere near you again. I promise.” Catra presses the faceplate of her helmet against Adora’s chest. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Adora says, rubbing a hand over Catra’s back. 

“I thought I could handle this. I thought I could just - just push through it, like I’ve always pushed through… everything.” 

“It’s okay,” Adora reiterates gently. “Everything’s fine. Nothing bad has happened.” After a pause, Catra nods. They hang in the air wrapped around each other for a while. Adora just keeps holding onto her, rubbing her back, and slowly Catra returns to her. 

“Thank you,” Catra croaks, tilting her head up to make eye contact through their helmets in the dim light of Adora’s flashlight, “ - for coming back for me.” Adora isn’t totally sure if Catra is talking about this specific incident, or if she’s talking about the last time they were on this flagship together. It doesn’t matter; Adora’s response is the same. 

“I will _always_ come back for you,” Adora says, meaning every word. “I’m never leaving you behind again.” Catra’s eyes fill visibly with tears, but she fights them back. Awfully inconvenient to cry when you’ve got a helmet on and can’t wipe your face. The few that escape as she blinks them away cling in pretty droplets to her eyelashes and float idly around her temples. “Do you feel ready to start heading back to where Bow and Glimmer and the others are?” Catra takes a deep steadying breath, and then nods. “Okay. Together. We’ll do this together.” Adora reaches for her comm switch, toggles it back to global.

“I’ve got her,” she tells the group. “Everything’s okay. She’s a little freaked out, but nobody’s hurt. We’re going to start heading back to where you guys are.” 

“Oh thank goodness,” Bow sighs. 

“As soon as we’re back with you, we’re going back to Etheria,” Adora says in no uncertain terms. 

“Actually, Adora, we might want to stay just a while longer,” Bow starts to say. 

“I’ve got the server room up and running again,” Entrapta announces gleefully. “Don’t worry, no network access. I’ve found my way into the system logs, and I still need to download a little more data, but Adora - you were _right.”_

“Right? Right about what?”

“The majority of Horde Prime’s network was a massive complex spiderweb of individuals, a hivemind made up of several small nodes, each constantly sharing small spurts of data back and forth, thoughts and sensory input being passed around on an impossibly large scale that effectively functioned like _firing neurons_ in a single mind. The handling of all that data transfer was the main bulk of this server room’s day-to-day workload, a vast number of small pieces of data. But the logs indicate that the network was periodically tasked with a different kind of data transfer - one _gigantic_ upload that seems to have happened much more infrequently.”

“Entrapta,” Adora says, her patience fraying, “I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t have all the evidence yet to be completely sure,” Entrapta says, “but the most likely explanation is exactly what you proposed.”

“Horde Prime was keeping backups,” Bow says, confirming Adora’s horrible, clenching fear. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, glancing at Catra’s face. She still hasn’t heard any of the conversation, with her channel set to local. Adora has to be brave, be calm, so that she can get Catra out of here. 

“Okay,” she says, “We’re on our way. Get what data you can in the meantime - as soon as Catra and I get there, we’re leaving.”

“But - “ Entrapta starts to say, and Adora flicks her comm back over to local. 

“Okay, they know we’re coming,” she tells Catra, putting on a smile. “Ready?” 

  
  


**Glimmer**

And just like that, they’re back in the Bright Moon war room, taking familiar places around the table. It makes her head spin, having the brief illusion of peace and victory snatched from them so quickly and so thoroughly. Still, it isn’t quite the same as it was. For one thing, never in all her craziest imaginings could she have anticipated _Hordak_ would be sitting at this table one day - even if his wrists are bound and he’s been given a common kitchen chair to sit on in a deliberate show of discourteousness. 

“So, here’s the situation,” Adora says, already wearing the mantle of responsibility and rising to address the group. The old Alliance wasted no time in gathering when Glimmer raised the Moonstone’s beacon. Adora touches the table, pulling up a visualization of Hordak’s network. “Entrapta’s gone through as much uncorrupted log data as she could salvage. Here’s what she’s learned. Normally Prime’s network was passing millions of small signals, constantly, back and forth from his clones to his robots to the central server.” The table glows with a constellation of points and little transfers of data zipping frantically between them all. “As far as Wrong Hordak has been able to explain it to us, this entire system basically functioned as Prime’s brain. He was connected to all of it, and absorbing all of it, even if he wasn’t actively controlling every individual at once. Like how we can breathe without having to think about it, or walk without having to think about flexing each individual muscle.”

She taps the table again, and the view zooms out; the massive network tightens into a fist sized cluster. 

“Normally the network handles a lot of little transfers of data. Going back through all the logs, Entrapta found something inconsistent. A huge transfer, over a million times the size of the normal daily load of the network.”

“Oh, much closer to a trillion times,” Entrapta remarks, but allows Adora to continue. 

“If he were making backups of his consciousness, it would need to include not just the memories of one person, but the entire network, and all the thoughts they’d ever had leading up to that point. He’s basically saving a snapshot of this entire ecosystem of all his clones’ thoughts and observations, all his robots, and the central server. Making a copy of his entire system is the only thing that could possibly lead to a data transfer of that size.” A thick beam of light projects out from the cluster visualization and off to the other side of the table, representing this sizable upload.

“So he’s making copies of his own brain, in case something goes wrong,” Frosta says, impressing Glimmer with her instant comprehension. She points at the spot on the table where the ‘transfer’ line terminates. “Why don’t we just go find whatever big stupid computer he sent it to, and go smash it?” 

“Because we don’t know where the transfer was sent to,” Glimmer says, taking over from Adora. She can see out of the corner of her eye that Catra still looks pretty shaken, and if she knows Adora, she’s standing there wishing she could just give all her attention to Catra instead of giving this presentation. Adora meets Glimmer’s eye, and a nod of understanding passes between them. Adora sits, Glimmer stands. Almost instantly, Adora’s hand is in Catra’s. “That information isn’t stored in the logs that Entrapta was able to retrieve. We know the size of the transfer, and the timing of the transfer, but not what it contained exactly or where it was going.”

“So, what, are we just gonna have to search _all of space?”_ Mermista drawls, her sarcasm a clear cover for her fear and discomfort. 

“No,” Glimmer says, trying to project calm confidence even if she doesn’t feel like it, feels like everything is spinning out of control just when she finally thought she might be able to - no, no time to think about that. “Like I said, we know the _timing_ of the transfer, which might not seem like useful information, but actually gives us something to work with. These unusually big data transfers, like Adora said, are way, way bigger than the system normally had to handle - to the point that it must have been an inconvenience to do them, because they only happened about once every hundred years. The last big transfer on record was sent roughly eighty years ago. That’s not the one we care about. The transfer that acts as a clue is actually the _first_ one on record.”

“One thousand, five hundred and fifty-three years ago. According to the metadata, the formatting or transfer method of the upload hasn’t changed in all that time.” Entrapta says, with a tone of reverence Glimmer doesn’t entirely like. Glimmer nods and touches the table, changing the display to a vast star map. 

“Which means he’s probably sending it to the same server that he sent it to over a thousand years ago, when he first started keeping backups. And that narrows it down. Wrong Hordak, if you will?” The clone sits forward in his chair - a nice, proper chair, unlike what they gave Hordak - and gestures to the map of the stars.

“Horde Prime’s empire was vast and all-encompassing. He had some defeats, some longer drawn out battles, but his sprawl has been primarily defined by victories.” Glimmer uses this cue to tap the table and move it to the next display; all the systems conquered by Prime change color from blue to green; in an instant, most of the table is consumed by green light. “But this is a process that has taken time. The scope of his reach has expanded exponentially in recent centuries as he has perfected his technique and methodologies, and reached a critical mass of firepower. Until about five hundred years ago, his spread was slower.” Glimmer is a little unnerved to hear Wrong Hordak talking about Prime like this, cold and factual but still in present tense, and almost implying respect for his ruthless conquering of endless worlds. “At the time the first transfer was sent, his empire was much smaller.” Glimmer taps the table again, and the green dots are reduced down to about ten percent of the systems visible on the table. 

“So this is our map of the sectors of space Prime controlled at the time he started doing these backups,” Glimmer says, taking over from Wrong Hordak. She swipes the display and it zooms in on the small cluster of green dots, expanding it out.

“That’s… still a lot of ground to cover,” Perfuma says uncertainly. “What is that, like, a hundred planets?” 

“Oh, it’s _much_ more than a hundred,” Entrapta says, beaming. 

“So how do we narrow it down further?” Spinnerella asks, leaning forward in her chair thoughtfully. 

“That’s what we’ve asked you all to come here for,” Glimmer says, then casts a nasty glance at Hordak, “and it’s why _he’s_ here. Entrapta has another two weeks of work to do on Mara’s old spaceship before it’ll be ready to go. In the meantime, we need to put our heads together and try to think about this the way Prime would, and make a plan for which of these systems seem like the most likely ones to hide his backup server in, and which ones we can probably eliminate.” 

“Oh, that’s all?” Netossa says, with a little smile. She sits up a little straighter in her chair and flashes Glimmer a reassuring grin. “We’ve handled way worse than this. You’ve got the finest minds in all of Etheria on your side. We’ll figure this out, Queen Glimmer. Don’t you worry.” It still feels like a barb, when people call her Queen, and she has to fight not to let her smile falter. 

“Thank you,” she says to the room at large. “Let’s take a break for lunch,” she suggests, wanting to give them some time to talk amongst themselves individually, to process this horrifying discovery. “We’ll reconvene to talk ideas once we’ve all got some food in our bellies.” 

**Wrong Hordak**

He returns to his brothers feeling more drained than usual, after the long day, but there is a pleasant surprise waiting for him. 

“Oak Leaf!” He does not have to summon his usual bright smile; it appears unbidden. “You’ve returned, my brother. Oh, I am so glad to see you.” Oak Leaf smiles awkwardly - he looks embarrassed? Ashamed? Guilty? It is still so difficult to tell without being connected by the hivemind. 

“I am faithful to your cause, brother,” Oak Leaf says. He reaches out, hesitates, and then places a hand on the preacher’s shoulder. “You seem troubled. What worries you? Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to - to share it, in what way we still can.” The preacher smiles all the more at this offer. Such kindness.

“That _would_ be soothing. I am grateful for your offer. It has been a long day, and I’ve been burdened with a heavy new piece of information about our situation.” 

“Come, brother,” Oak Leaf entreats. “Let us retire somewhere comfortable, and you can share some of that burden with me.”


	16. Runway

**Hordak**

Prime is still alive. 

Not literally, not quite, but the potential for his return is now tangible. Hordak walks endless circles around his perfectly circular ‘prison cell’, flexing and unflexing his hands, trying to keep his tremors under control. 

It’s not as bad as it could be. The most recent backup is several decades out of date. He won’t remember Hordak’s betrayal - he won’t even remember Etheria exists at all.

Unless he reintegrates even _one_ of the clones left behind on Etheria into his hivemind. If he does that, everything that clone has seen and remembers will be added back into Prime’s memories, and then he will know that vengeance is due. Which, frankly, makes it an _enormous_ risk for him to go with the Etherians on this mission. It’s equally foolish of them to bring the False Hordak along, for the same reason. Prime will look at either one of them and know them for a lost clone, he will waste no time in taking over their bodies and skimming the contents of their minds. 

All that said, can he bear to stay back and do nothing, knowing that he has left his life in the hands of these bumbling, moronic Etherians? If he told them not to bring the other clone, they would surely disregard him, so it might not even be beneficial at all for him to refuse to go with them. 

Shaking, his hand is shaking. He refuses to believe it is fear. It is his defect, worsened by his heightened emotional state. He should sit, but he cannot. He marches another lap around the circle, trying to control his rapid breathing. Whether he goes with them on their journey is irrelevant at this exact point in time. He must apply his knowledge of Prime and his empire to help narrow down the search. Just as he’s approaching a point of exhaustion that may allow him to finally sit, the door to his room opens. He tenses, prepared for conflict, but it’s only Entrapta. The sight of her makes him heave a sigh of relief. 

“Hey Hordak!” she says brightly, bustling in with a box filled with a number of jangling pieces of metal and cords. “I finally got the guards to let me come in here to work on things. I wanna get you to look at some of the neat stuff I grabbed off the flagship and confirm if they are what I think they are. I’m especially interested in whether this piece of network cable could be repurposed to give Darla more responsive handling in situations where autopilot is - “ she cuts herself off and frowns. “Hordak, you’re shaking all over.”

“I am not,” he says testily, even though he knows the falsehood is worthless to conceal his trembling limbs. 

“You should probably sit down,” Entrapta remarks, reaching for the chair he flipped over in an earlier rage and righting it with her hair. He plans to protest, but she swiftly bullies him down into the soft, comfortable seating. “Have they been feeding you enough? I can ask them to bring more.”

“Please, no,” he growls, “their fare is so sickeningly rich, I can hardly keep it down. I assure you, they provide _more_ than enough. The shaking is - is simply the manifestation of my _defect.”_

“You’re not defective,” Entrapta reminds him, wandering over to a side table and dumping her box of scavenged goodies all over it. “I’m still trying to convince them that you need your exosuit back. They don’t seem to understand that it’s for mobility and pain relief and not just fighting. I even offered to leave the arm cannon off of the new one, but - “

“This is irrelevant,” Hordak says, not wanting to dwell on the subject. “Have the Etherians made much progress in narrowing down the possible locations of the backup server?” 

“Nope!” Entrapta doesn’t sound perturbed by this in the slightest. She reaches into the pile of junk now covering the table and extracts a data pad, which she throws his way without looking at him. “I did get you this, though! They really do want your help, and I think helping them will be the quickest way to prove you can be trusted.” 

“It would be a mark of their own bad judgement not to question my motives,” Hordak grumbles, catching the data pad and activating the screen. It populates with hundreds of little dots, each possible to touch and bring up a dossier on.

“Where did all this information come from? We didn’t retrieve this sort of galactic database from barely an hour on the Velvet Glove.”

“The what?”

“Prime’s flagship - that is - _was -_ its name.”

“Ohhhhh, how _elegant_. Not very personable though. I wonder what you’d shorten that to while talking to her. Velvie? Glover? Velvetina!” 

“That last one has even more syllables than the real name,” he scoffs, fighting the smallest quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“Where all of this information on the star systems came from.”

“Oh! I downloaded that all off of Darla. She’s a little out of date - a thousand years out of date, to be exact - but I figure it’s at least a starting point. All of that information was accurate at _some_ point.” He taps on a dot and expands out its description. 

“Denebria,” he mutters thoughtfully. He doesn’t remember this one. The thousand year old First One’s data says it’s a vassal colony of Prime’s, one of his early victories. The population surrendered without any resistance. Hordak pokes at a different system on the map. This one is Treadaway, formerly a bustling hub of commerce, now a cog in the ever-running engine of Horde Prime’s massive schemes. On the outer edges of what Prime’s borders looked like at the time, it would have made an appealing target for his enemies. An unlikely place to store something so important as his own consciousness. “This is going to take a long time to narrow down,” he sighs bitterly, massaging at an ache in his wrist. 

“Good,” Entrapta says, “you can keep me company while I’m working and I can do the same for you. Pass me that - “ he’s already reaching down for the wrench before she asks, handing it to her absently. “Thanks!” 

“It will not be enough to sit here and familiarize myself with all of these systems,” Hordak says. “I must put myself into Prime’s mindset, must imagine myself in his situation at the time, and make the same calculations that he would.” He’s getting a headache. Why couldn’t Prime just die and stay dead, like any other sensible thing in this universe? Why is it _his_ job to fix this oversight, anyways? Maybe he should just leave this to _She-Ra_ and her band of merry fools. 

A chill trickles down his spine. He casts a glance at Entrapta, smiling and muttering to herself as she tinkers. She has promised him a future that is his and his alone. A lifetime spent unconcerned with the running of an army or the approval of a sneering egomaniac. Who would he have been, he wonders, if he had come into existence free of Prime from the very start? He doesn’t know. The lack of any certainty is… upsetting, for some reason. 

Damn Horde Prime. 

“I will find you,” Hordak mutters, opening another planet’s profile with renewed determination. “And I will kill you a third time, a fourth time, a fifth, if I must.”

  
  


**Glimmer**

“Thanks for coming with us,” Glimmer says to Catra, offering her a grin and a shoulder nudge as Adora waddles ahead of them down the palace hallway carrying a pile of fabric about the size of two Swift Winds. Catra gives her a small, sheepish smile in return, and Glimmer’s heart flutters a little to have been the cause of it. Catra is finally smiling back at her and Bow, after weeks of them trying to be her friend. Adora warned them it would take time, but it still feels like an incredible victory. “I don’t think we ever would have gotten her out of that old uniform and into something new without your help.”

“I still can’t believe you hired like _eight people_ just to hold fabric against her and embarrass her with tape measures,” Catra snickers. 

“Listen, when Wrong Hordak asked me to help put his people in touch with someone who could teach them how to make their own clothes, I knew I had to seize the opportunity. It was, in my humble opinion, a stroke of diplomatic genius. The Erlandia tailor’s guild wasn’t exactly going to be jumping for joy at the opportunity to teach a bunch of the clones that terrorized them how to weave cloth, but with _She-Ra_ as bait…!” 

“It _was_ a pretty good idea,” Catra says, and Glimmer beams with pride at the unexpected praise right up until she adds, “are you sure you didn’t steal it from Bow?” 

“I did _not!”_ Glimmer retorts indignantly, and then has to wrack her brains to see if maybe this _was_ one of the things she and Bow came up with amidst sleepy cuddling discussions on how best to get organized in preparation for the trip to space. She honestly can’t remember if it was her idea or Bow’s. “Anyways the point is, now the clones have a new skill they can practice and they don’t have to keep wearing their nasty old Prime robes, _and_ Adora can finally wear something she actually picked out, for once.”

“It only took her like eight hours and nonstop pressure to just make decisions,” Catra laughs. There is a darkness to her laughter, an urgency like she’s trying to blow past some other more uncomfortable thought. Glimmer wonders if she’s remembering her own set of crisp white Prime robes, if she’s sympathizing with the clones who only now have something to wear instead of them. That reminds Glimmer that helping Adora to find new things to wear wasn’t her only goal for this girls-only shopping trip. 

“Hey, about last week, on the flagship - “ she starts gently, and feels immediately guilty at the way the smile vanishes from Catra’s face and her ears go flat. “I was freaking out too, like, the entire time.” Glimmer puts a tentative hand on Catra’s shoulder. “If you ever want to talk, I’m just down the hall.” Catra holds her eyes for only the briefest of moments before shrugging her off and picking up her pace. 

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” she mutters, not looking at Glimmer, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “How you holding up, Adora?” She calls down the corridor. 

_“I can’t open the door!”_ Is Adora’s muffled reply from beneath her shocking new abundance of wardrobe options. 

“Oh no!” Catra declares, in a tone of utter mockery. “I’m coming, princess!” Glimmer is not entirely sure if her attempt to offer Catra support was a success or a failure, but at least now she knows the option is there. Glimmer teleports in ahead of them both to Adora’s room and opens the door for them from the inside, only to end up in a pile of clothes when this unexpected movement sends Adora off balance. 

“You did that on purpose!” Glimmer accuses, from underneath approximately twelve pairs of pants and at least seven shirts.

“Woops, clumsy me,” Adora croons innocently. She then shrieks, and there is a thump, and Glimmer manages to teleport herself out of the clothing pile just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by Adora and Catra wrestling like wild children. 

“You two are maniacs,” she laughs, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. They tussle with a frantic, surprisingly earnest fervor, no holds barred, and it only ends when Catra gets a pant leg around Adora’s throat and - sounding actually maybe half serious - threatens to choke her out unless she surrenders.

“I give!” Adora gasps through deep, chesty giggles. It’s a specific variant of Adora’s laughter that Glimmer didn’t hear much - in fact, hardly ever heard at all - until they rescued Catra. 

“Is this what you two were like as kids?” Glimmer asks, shaking her head with distaste even as she wears an enormous smile. “I don’t know how you didn’t burn the Fright Zone down years ago.”

“Oh, believe me,” Catra says, expression wicked, “we tried.” Glimmer thinks of her early friendship with Bow, where affection was expressed with words and drawings and gifts and the occasional hand-holding, and literally cannot conceive of what it would have been like to grow up in proximity to these two little monsters. Probably for the best they didn’t meet until adulthood. The thought is interrupted by a soft knock at the door. 

“Your Majesty,” the guard says, “you have a meeting to finalize the list of food supplies for your journey. We’ve shown the representative from Alwyn to the waiting room and made her tea, but - “

“But it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting, got it, thank you. Sorry guys - this was a really fun day, but I gotta run. Make sure you hang those when you put them away!” 

“You’re starting to sound like Bow,” Adora teases, and Glimmer feels her face go hot. “Guess that’s what happens when you spend every second of your spare time with someone.” 

“You’re one to talk!” She’s about to make some sort of point about how absolutely glued to Catra she’s been when the guard clears her throat delicately. Right, the food supplier from Alwyn. “I will get you for this later,” she threatens.

“Buh-bye, Sparkles,” Catra says with a smile, fluttering the end of the pant leg she was just using to play-strangle the savior of the universe. Glimmer feels like she’s starting to understand how Adora went so many years refusing to believe that Catra was really her enemy just because they had a few violent clashes.

  
  


**Bow**

“Honestly, I’m really impressed with how quickly this has been coming together.” He runs his hands along the new framed out edges of interior walls, just waiting for panelling, and admires the surprisingly clean cable management.

“Darla deserves nothing less,” Entrapta says over the video channel, oozing affection for the vehicle. “She’s such a wonderful ship. I wanted to really dress her up pretty and give her some new moves for this big debut.” Bow laughs uncertainly, walking down the soon-to-be-hallways and trying to match the layout to the blueprints Entrapta showed him. 

“Now, here’s a question. Just, you know, for no _specific_ reason, I was wondering… what were your plans forrrrrr… uh… sound… proofing?” He knows he doesn’t really need to tiptoe up to this point with Entrapta, that he could probably just be extremely blunt with her about his expectations around what kinds of activities might generate noises that one might not want to share with the rest of the ship, but he really just _can’t_ bring himself to say it out loud. 

“Soundproofing, hm,” Entrapta mutters to herself, “I can’t say I’d given it much thought aside from as an incidental side effect of the exterior insulation.”

“Wwwwell,” Bow says, walking down the framework that will eventually be the walls between the bedrooms, “I would like to propose that extra soundproofing between the bedrooms, in particular, is really important so that people can get high quality sleep. Since we’ll all be in close quarters, if you want to, say, have a late night conversation with Wrong Hordak about an idea for tinkering with the ship, with well-insulated walls around the bedrooms, you don’t have to be worried about your conversation waking up people who might be sleeping.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have worried about that! Should I have?” 

“I mean. Yes?” Bow squeaks, stepping through a door frame with no door into the room where he and Glimmer can expect to spend the next however-many-weeks this journey takes. He stretches out his arms and does a little spin to get a feel for the size of the room. Certainly smaller than their rooms in Bright Moon, but not as cramped as he’d feared. Entrapta was right to condense the size of the bridge a little. “Plus it’ll allow you to maintain whatever hours of wakefulness you find you prefer.”

“Oh! And Hordak won’t bother people who are trying to sleep with all his yelling.”

“His… yelling?” 

“He yells a _lot_. It’s just sort of how he expresses himself most of the time.”

“I do _not_ _yell to express myself_ ,” Hordak snarls over the comm.

“I really wish you wouldn’t hang out in the prison cell with him, Entrapta,” Bow sighs, knowing there isn’t a point to his protesting. 

“He’s helpful!”

“I’m sure,” Bow says dryly. “Anyways, my point is, if it’s not too big of a burden, I would really appreciate some extra sound-proofing in the walls around the sleeping quarters. I think it’s an extra little consideration that everybody will benefit from.”

“Sure! That shouldn’t add too much extra time. I’m almost done working on this upgrade to the auto-pilot module sensor array, I’ll be going back to the ship tomorrow to install it. Can I bring - “

_“No,_ you can’t bring Hordak. I’m sorry, he has to stay in his room for now unless we’re bringing him out for a meeting or a mission.” 

“I’ll call you on my comm while I’m doing the install,” Bow hears Entrapta tell Hordak as an aside. “I wanna show you this idea I have for repurposing the Prime tech power surge protectors as upgrades to the energy absorption shielding.” 

“That would be… intriguing,” Hordak mutters in the background of the call. Bow furrows his brows, stepping back out of the bedroom-in-progress and going to the bridge. Entrapta has squares marked out in tape for where it looks like several seats are intended to go. Finally they’ll have more than just the single captain’s chair. He loves Adora dearly, but she’s _just_ enough of a control freak that only having one chair on the bridge means most of the time she ends up monopolizing it without actually meaning to. 

“Okay, well, everything looks good here. I just wanted to give you that suggestion before it slipped my mind. I dropped off all that stuff you asked me to move here, I just left it right inside the door.”

“Perfect!! Thanks Bow.” She actually looks up and smiles at him in the video feed instead of being distracted by her current project and he can’t help but smile back. He really is glad to have her back. 

“I’ll see you back at Bright Moon, Entrapta.” He ends the call, lingering on a strange observation. He’s always thought that Entrapta was projecting her notion of friendship onto Hordak the same way she does with her bots and the ship. But for just a moment there on the call, they actually sounded like they were friends, like Hordak is interested in her work. 

Hm. Well, once they get Darla reassembled, there will be plenty of time to get to know Hordak and discover what kind of person he actually is. Being nice to Entrapta is a good thing, but it doesn’t negate all the destruction and killing and traumatized child soldiers. 

  
Bow heaves a sigh. There’s a lot to think about right now - he can worry about appropriate sanctions for war crimes _after_ he’s had some dinner and heard all about the outfit shopping that happened today. He wonders if Adora picked out any crop tops.


	17. Liftoff

**Catra**

Catra has been grappling with her jealousy of Adora literally her entire life. Adora has always been the chosen one, always beloved by superiors and admired by peers and trusted by subordinates. Catra grew up in a constant state of fluctuation between resentment and pride, possessiveness and insecurity, self-doubt and indignation. Sometimes Adora was the target of her bitter feelings; sometimes the people who bowed before Adora were the ones she sneered at. None of them knew Adora. Not like Catra did. They didn’t see her many, many flaws - didn’t love her in spite of those flaws, didn’t see just how incredibly high the peaks of Adora’s good qualities stood when compared to the depths of her failings. The thought that Adora would ever discard Catra in favour of one of those sycophants had simultaneously been Catra’s deepest fear and the one thing she’d felt sure Adora would never, ever do. 

And then she did exactly that - or at least, she made a choice that looked, to Catra, like she had - and Catra was forced to reckon with the feeling of the world falling out from under her feet, to scramble for a sense of identity that didn’t depend on having Adora by her side. 

She knows it’s not something that’s just going to go away. Adora could heal her broken, battered body with She-Ra’s magic, but the matter of her heart isn’t so simple. She’s been trying - for once in her damn life - but it feels like trying to get the burrs out of a blanket that you stupidly set down underneath one of those trees that drops the nasty little spike balls. One big shake of the blanket can get rid of a surprisingly large number of them - and hearing Adora say _I love you, too_ was nothing if not a massive shake of everything Catra’s ever believed about herself - but you’re still going to keep finding burrs and having to pick them out one by one for weeks afterwards. 

Standing back at the edge of the crowd, watching Adora being lavished with parting gifts, hugs, and farewell tears by a seemingly endless line of friends and admirers, Catra knows she’s just rolled over and found another burr. It seems stupid, to be all twisted up about this when she’s about to spend months on board a ship with Adora almost entirely to herself, but it really, genuinely stings to see. It makes her feel naive for actually hoping some of these people might be _her_ friends, someday, when clearly they’re all just besotted with Adora and tolerate Catra because Adora likes her. Melog, pressed against her leg, looks like they’re about to make another pushy comment about how Catra shouldn’t be isolating herself for no reason when she clearly wants to be there in that crowd. Catra sends them a sharp glance to silence the commentary. Maybe she just wants to be alone to process this. She’s not sulking. It would be dumb of her to be sulking, so obviously that’s not what she’s doing.

Catra has her arms crossed protectively around herself and is frowning, thinking in circles about how much hasn’t _really_ changed, when Perfuma finishes giving Adora a lingering, wispy-looking hug and then turns her eyes on Catra. 

“Catra, you’re next!” Perfuma says with a smile, putting a little potted plant into Adora’s hands and then breezing her way over to where Catra is leaning against the side of the ship. Melog perks their ears and excitedly tells Catra that Perfuma is coming over, as if she can’t see it with her own eyes. 

“Whaddaya mean, I’m _next,”_ Catra grouches, realizing she’s in a worse mood than she thought and belatedly trying to dial back her attitude. She doesn’t want Adora to catch wind of her bad mood, it’ll ruin her sappy emotional goodbyes with everyone. 

“I have a gift for you _too,_ silly!” Perfuma giggles, shocking the frown right off of Catra’s face. 

“What, another plant?” Between Entrapta, Bow, Glimmer and Adora, Perfuma’s already given them three little potted ferns and an actual, literal potted tree. Catra doesn’t think they need more junk to crowd up their ship. 

“Nope,” Perfuma says, her smile becoming… almost cunning? “Scorpia and I were talking - “

“Oh _no,”_ Catra groans.

“ - and I think this will suit you better than a plant right now.” She pulls a woven strap up from over her shoulder, and removes the tube of fabric she’s been carrying over her back. “One of the joys of owning a plant,” Perfuma says, holding uncomfortably sincere eye contact with Catra, “is the experience of caring for another living thing that _needs_ you. It can be incredibly healing. But sometimes we can become a little too fixated on being needed by others, and forget that it’s also important to care for _ourselves.”_ She hands the long roll of thick, stiff fabric to Catra. If this is some kind of blanket, it’s gotta be the least comfortable one she’s ever seen. 

“Uh. Thanks, I guess?” Catra relieves herself of the intensity of Perfuma’s eye contact by glancing down to study the roll, which seems to be some kind of woven mat, now that she’s looking at it closer. “What uh. What does this have to do with any of that?” 

“It’s a meditation mat,” Perfuma says, sounding enormously pleased with herself, and like that answers Catra’s question. Catra says nothing, only looks at her waiting for the explanation. Perfuma’s smile falters a little when there’s no immediate gushing of thanks, her eyebrows pinching prettily. “Oh! Of course, of _course_ they wouldn’t have had that in the Horde! Scorpia just took to it so _quickly_ that I managed to forget.” Ah, there’s another little burr - the guilt at hearing Scorpia’s name, hearing that she’s doing things with other friends, _better_ friends. It pricks painfully. Their little conversation at the party was cathartic, sure, but Catra’s pretty sure she’ll feel bad about how she treated Scorpia for the rest of her life. “Meditation is… well, if we had a little more time, I could guide you through it - “

“Just, uh, just an overview of what exactly I’m supposed to do with this thing would be good,” Catra says, cutting her off before she can get any ideas. 

“Right! So, you spread this on the ground, and then you can sit on it, or lie on it, or use it to soften and stabilize your movements as you stretch, if you prefer a more _kinesthetic_ type of cleansing, and you work through your breathing, and clear your mind. I do it every morning and it really is enormously helpful to center yourself and just be _with_ yourself, for a while.” 

“Sounds awful,” Catra laughs, “thank you.” 

“I think it could be helpful, if you at least try it,” Perfuma says, with a smile so harmlessly well-meaning that Catra is suddenly and jarringly reminded of _Kyle,_ of all people. She’ll have to mention that to Adora the next time they’re alone. That’ll make Adora laugh. “Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?” 

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” Catra thinks about Scorpia asking this same question at the party. Seems like the two have been hanging out a lot. Wild to think that this dreamy little flower princess managed to teach Scorpia more about boundaries in a couple months than Catra ever did through years of snarling and pushing her away. Perfuma gives a tittering little giggle and then spreads her arms wide and comes in for the embrace; it’s a lot more delicate of a hold than Catra expected. 

“I’ll miss you,” Perfuma says, and Catra is surprised. Can she possibly mean that? 

“Yeah well,” Catra grunts, “stay safe while we’re gone, alright? Take care of Scorpia.” That last bit is out of her mouth before she’s really sure what she’s saying, and the realization that the thought slipped past her guard and into the air before she had the chance to stop it makes her face go warm. 

“I will,” Perfuma assures her, and then releases the gentle hold. “You should come back to where everybody else is. I’m not the only one that has a gift for you, you know.”

“Really?” Catra says, embarrassed by how scratchy and emotional the word comes out. 

“Mmmmhmmm,” Perfuma sing-songs happily. Catra allows her to lead them back to where the rest of the little party is gathered. A small group of clones in a motley of weird outfits is presenting a gift to Wrong Hordak - some ugly twisted piece of metal that he’s getting super choked-up about. 

“Brother Oak Leaf,” Wrong Hordak says earnestly, and Catra has to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the snort of laughter at the idiotic name, “are you sure? This is the first piece of artwork you have ever made as a free individual. You must be quite emotionally attached to it.” _Oak Leaf,_ Catra giggles inside her own mind. What a terrible, terrible idea it was to let these dumb clones pick their own names. What’s next? Brother Rock? Brother Dirt? 

“I can think of no more suitable gift,” the clone apparently named Oak Leaf says. His smile looks strained. A lot of them are really bad at smiles. “May it comfort you on your journey as a non-literal reminder of those who await your return. You are not alone, Brother.” Tearing up, Wrong Hordak puts a hand on Oak Leaf’s shoulder. 

“Nor are you, my Brother.” This makes Oak Leaf’s smile look a little more genuine. It makes Catra want to make disrespectful retching noises. A defensive reflex, she knows, and actively makes the choice not to scrutinize the urge any deeper than that. It’s a relief when Frosta approaches the group with a big smile, looking proud of herself. One of her Kingdom of Snows lackeys is trailing behind carrying something that looks heavy. These friends of Adora’s really are determined to pack their ship full of trash, aren’t they? 

“So, I was thinking,” Frosta says, launching into her little gift-giving speech, “If I were stuck on a spaceship for a really long time, I would be super bored and want something to do other than watering plants and playing board games. I’d want to practice my Ice Punching! But there’s not really room for real training on there, so I got you this!” She stands aside and makes a dramatic pose as the Kingdom of Snows guard reveals the gift. 

“A _punching bag,”_ Adora says brightly, jumping forward to admire it. 

“Finally, something _practical,”_ Catra drawls, slinging the strap of the meditation mat over her shoulder so that she can have her hands free. Adora flashes a grin of agreement at Catra, then turns her attention back to the gift.

“Thank you, Frosta,” Adora says warmly. “This is really thoughtful. I’m sure we’ll all get lots of use out of it.” 

“I’ll just watch,” Bow says, with a cherubic little smile, and everybody laughs.

“Is it _my_ turn yet?” Sea Hawk bellows, sounding wildly excited to give his gift. He staggers up to the middle of the crowd, carrying an actual, literal wooden treasure chest. 

“Sea Hawk, _what - “_ is Glimmer’s spluttering reaction.

“Oh man, _what?”_ Bow exclaims, “An _actual treasure chest._ Sea Hawk, what’s in here?? Ancient gems? Golden coins?”

“Oh, _much_ better and more valuable.” Sea Hawk drops it into front of them, then strikes a pose with his foot on top of the chest. “I have been keeping this precious treasure locked and safe with me for _years._ It has travelled with me from the other side of Etheria, waiting for an occasion so sublime as to be worthy of its unearthing.” He produces a key from his pocket with a dramatic flourish, and then hands it ceremonially to Glimmer. “Would you do the honors, my Queen?” Glimmer turns a little red and smiles, taking the key.

“You are _so_ extra,” Mermista remarks from off to the side. “Hurry up and open it, Glimmer, he won’t tell me what’s inside and I am going to combust of _excitement_ if I don’t finally find out what this stupid treasure is.” The comment is at odds with her tone of voice, which is so hilariously devoid of excitement that Catra actually cracks a laugh. This unintentionally draws Adora’s eyes, and her heart does a twisty little flip-flop at the quietly pleased smile Adora flashes her. 

“Okay, well, first you’re gonna have to get _off_ the treasure chest so I can open it,” Glimmer says, shooing Sea Hawk out of his theatrical pose. She crouches down and inserts the key, and then anti-climatically has to fight with it for several seconds while everybody holds their breath. 

“It may be a little sticky,” Sea Hawk says. “Do you want me to - “

“I’ve _got_ it!” Glimmer yelps stubbornly, and then with an extra surge of rage-powered strength she turns the key and the lock opens. They all gather close as she pushes up the lid. 

“What is it?” Frosta asks, frowning in confusion. “It just looks like a bottle of sewer water.” Mermista gives a little involuntary shudder at the word _sewer._

“That, dear girl,” crows Sea Hawk, “is the finest bottle of hundred year old barrel aged whiskey ever to be seen outside of my homeland, and the only bottle to have escaped the tragic burning of the great Golden Distillery of the Moustache Mens’ Era.”

“He one hundred percent just made all that last stuff up,” Mermista says with total certainty. 

“Well, it sure _smells_ old,” Catra remarks, her curiosity taking center stage. Since nobody else seems inclined to, she reaches for the bottle and pulls it free of the padding of old, salt-stained rags. It’s heavy, and the glass seems thick and sturdy in her hands. “I can’t even read the writing on this label. What language is that?” 

“We are _absolutely_ going to go blind if we drink that,” Bow says, peering over Catra’s shoulder. 

“So we save it for a special occasion,” Catra smirks, more intrigued by this gift than any of the others so far. 

“We can crack it open to celebrate after we take out Prime’s backup server,” Adora suggests, gently taking it from Catra and putting it back in the chest. “Thank you, Sea Hawk. This is a really generous gift. Are you sure you don’t want to save it for a time when you’ll be able to actually have some yourself?” 

“Well, I simply _assumed_ you would save me some for when you got back,” Sea Hawk says, crossing his arms and pouting.

“We will,” Glimmer assures him with a smile. “It’s a big bottle. I doubt any of us will be able to take more than a couple sips of it at a time anyways. And like Adora said, we won’t even open it until _after_ the mission is a success.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Catra teases, not actually serious.

“Good thing I’m the only one with the key,” Glimmer teases right back, shutting the chest and locking it tight. 

“Okay, us next,” Spinnerella says, and Sea Hawk makes way for the married couple and their armfulls of little bundles. They’ve packaged their gifts in colourful fabric drawstring bags. It’s sickeningly cute. They check the tags on all the bags and press them into the intended recipients’ hands. Even though Perfuma said other people had gifts for her, Catra is still surprised when Netossa smilingly hands her a gift. She even checks the tag just to be sure, feeling something welling up inside her chest at the sight of her name in a curly handwriting. 

“This is for me?” She asks, just to be _extra_ sure, like it couldn’t be clearer.

“Open it,” Adora says, her own gift untouched and her eyes on Catra, an eager, hopeful expression on her face. Melog presses against Netossa’s legs, solemnly praising her and her wife in a language that Catra knows only she can interpret. Spinnerella smiles down at Melog and gives them an affectionate pat on the forehead - even if the words are indecipherable to them, the meaning must come through clearly enough. “Come on,” Adora urges again, obviously impatient. 

“Is something going to jump out at me?” Catra laughs, loosening the drawstring. She reaches into the bag and her fingertips find a smooth, solid rectangular shape. It’s about the size of a tracker pad, but thicker. She pulls a beautiful wooden box out of the bag, carved with little decorative motifs and fastened with a brass latch. This is for _her?_

“Open the box,” Adora says, still ignoring her own gift. She sounds giddy. 

“You know what this is already, I take it,” Catra says, turning the box at different angles to admire the way parts of it are stained darker and parts are left the original color of the wood underneath the glossy finish. 

“We asked Adora for some help in deciding on what to give you,” Spinnerella confesses. Unlike Adora, she doesn’t explicitly pressure Catra to hurry up and open the damn thing, but Catra thinks there’s an undertone of it in her voice. Giving in to their obvious excitement, Catra opens the latch and unfolds the two halves of the lid, which open like a big set of double doors. Lining the interior of the box is a set of tools, most of them weird looking knives, and blocks of raw wood. A glint of metal catches her eye, and she sees a knife blade without any sort of handle, and some brass pegs. She rebalances the box and hears a little tinking sound - she discovers the source is some little bottles labelled _oil_ and _stain_ and _glue_. Tucked in behind some of the blocks is a little paper booklet; it looks handmade.

“My pops used to do woodworking in his spare time,” Netossa explains, as Catra examines the wealth of unfamiliar items, “He liked to say keeping his hands busy making something meant they were too busy to make trouble. Once he got older, he didn’t do it as much, but he still whittles himself a new pipe at least once a year or so, and he makes trinkets and things when the mood takes him. This is a pretty small little starter kit but he said it should be enough for some practice projects, and then, when you’re ready, all the stuff is in there to make a handle for a knife.” Catra touches the little booklet, notices the thin, looping writing at the top says _Your First Knife Handle: Tips From An Old Fogey._

“Did he… write this himself?” 

“He started telling me how to make the knife handle so that I could explain it to you,” Netossa laughs, “and I got overwhelmed about three sentences in. I asked him to slow down so I could take notes and before I knew it he’d sat down and written this cute little step by step guide.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” Catra says, in a state of shock. A total stranger did this completely unnecessary thing for her, not even being sure that she’d like it? Ah, shit, she should probably say something nice. “I mean - uh - thank you. This is - this is way too much, I haven’t even known you guys that long.” 

“If you hadn’t been keeping Mermista occupied,” Netossa says, her voice a crackling fire of carefully tended emotions, “I might not have been able to get Spinny back, when we infiltrated the Fright Zone. I haven’t forgotten that.” 

“I mean, that was - it’s not like I was distracting her on purpose, I was mostly just running _away_ from her,” Catra says softly, afraid to accept this gesture, afraid to like these people and trust that their affection is genuine. 

“When Entrapta was removing the chip,” Spinnerella adds, “she talked the entire time about how you’d gone through the same process. It was comforting, believe it or not, even though she was describing something scary and awful. It meant I wasn’t alone, it meant somebody else had gone through what I was going through and had come out the other end. It made it easier to believe I’d be okay.” 

“I don’t - I don’t deserve something this nice.” Catra whispers, holding the wooden carving kit so tightly the edges cut against her palms. “All I did was run away and - and let someone else do all the hard work of getting the chip off of me.” She can’t accept this gift. It’s not for her, it’s for some other version of her, some heroic, noble, self-sacrificing lie they’ve told themselves about who she is. 

“Catra,” Melog says firmly from where they’re standing between the couple and accepting petting to their head and ears, “You like this gift and you want it for yourself, and they are giving it to you freely. Why would you reject it when the idea of giving it back to them makes you so unhappy?” Everybody turns to look at Melog at this outburst; it gives Catra a few seconds to back up from the emotional precipice she now realizes she’s been walking towards. She’d been about to push them away, to reject their overture of friendship, exactly the same way she always did with Scorpia. 

“Thank you,” she finally says, her grip on the box relaxing. “This is - " she sends a quick glance at Adora, trying to remember the words she used to thank Frosta, " - really thoughtful. Tell your dad I can’t wait to try it.” Even if she isn’t worthy of this - and she _knows_ she isn’t - maybe she can take it anyways, as long as she promises that she’s going to try to be that person eventually, the Catra they seem to think she is. Somebody who would risk her life on purpose to help a woman she barely knows save her wife. Somebody who would share the pain of surviving something awful just to try to give hope to someone else who has to survive the same thing. She _wasn’t_ that person back then, and she’s not sure she _is_ that person now. But maybe she could be, someday. Adora puts a hand on her shoulder, so Catra forces on a fake smile and turns to her. “Well, what’d you get? You haven’t even opened yours. Already know what that one is, too?” 

“Oh!” Adora says, like she’s totally forgotten she’s holding a gift. She doesn’t agonize over it like Catra did, quickly shucking the fabric bag and revealing a wooden box of her own. Like Catra’s, it’s full of tools and materials. “What is it?” She asks, grinning like a little kid and touching all the different things. 

“We got the idea from how excited you were about getting Catra a knife kit. It’s a leather-working starter kit. There’s some stuff in there for making simple little necklaces and bracelets to start, and the big project is for a belt sheath for a small knife.” 

“So,” Spinnerella says coyly, “if you both find you enjoy these little project boxes, Catra could make knives for both of you and Adora could make the sheaths for them.” Adora’s face goes _magnificently_ red. 

“Thank you, guys. That’s really cool,” Adora manages to stammer. Unable to resist the temptation, Catra leans in close to Adora’s ear and whispers:

“I would just _love_ for you to make a sheath for my blade.” Adora’s reaction is not, like Catra expected, to turn even more coy and bashful. Instead she snorts a laugh and flashes Catra a wicked grin, giving her a playful shove with her shoulder because both of them have their hands full with the gifts. This is somehow even better than what Catra expected her comment to achieve; instead of Adora being the blushing victim of her teasing, her laughter makes her into Catra’s co-conspirator. 

“Thank you guys,” Adora says, closing and latching her box so she can tuck it under one arm and give the pair each a half hug. “These are gonna be really great for the long trip.”

“I hope you’re bored out of your skull the whole time,” Netossa says, squeezing Adora fondly, “because it’ll mean everything is going smoothly and without problems.” 

It takes them another hour to get through all the well-wishes and the hugs and the tears and the gifts, and then another twenty minutes to load it all onto the ship and find places for everything to go. The punching bag ends up in the brig, which Catra privately thinks is a bad idea because it means they’ll lose access to it if (when) they realize Hordak can’t be trusted with free roaming access to the ship. The treasure chest of ancient whiskey ends up in the cargo hold, and the rest of the personal items end up stashed away in various private rooms. Adora insists the potted tree go on the bridge, for some reason, and it’s not like they have any reason to put it anywhere else so that’s where it ends up. 

Then, at long last, it’s time to go. The ship’s door closes and they take their seats on the bridge. It feels the same but also different, being back on this ship. The layout is different, but the smell is much the same. The big difference now is that they’re going _away_ from Etheria instead of towards it. The difference is that they’re the ones hunting Prime now, not the other way around. 

The difference is that for some extremely stupid reason, they’re bringing _Hordak_ with them. 

“All systems green,” Entrapta says, just about squealing with excitement. 

“Everybody ready?” Adora asks from her position at the admin console. They sound off one by one; Glimmer, Bow, Wrong Hordak, Catra, Melog, Entrapta, and then, with a reluctant grumble, Hordak. Adora places her hand on the console, which lights up blue. “Okay Darla. Take us out of here.”

“Preparing to breach Etherian atmosphere,” Darla reports cheerfully. The engines scream to life; the tops of the trees around them sway with the impact. “Pre-programmed course active. Destination: The Tri-Solar System. Prepare for liftoff.” Catra clutches at the arms of her chair, feeling the adrenaline finally hit as the ship launches, pressing them all back into their seats. It’s really happening. 

They’re going back to space.


	18. Give It a Name

**Adora**

Once they’re through the atmosphere, the pressure of acceleration eases off. Then it’s just eight people sitting wordlessly on a silent bridge, the sprawl of space all around them. 

“Welp.” Adora says into that awkward quiet, drawing the word out and popping the last letter, wiggling her fingers against the arms of her chair. The rest of the crew turn to look at her, as if they actually expect her to follow that with some kind of meaningful statement. “Now what?” 

“I’m going to go collect some data on how my new modifications are performing!” Entrapta says cheerfully, leaping up out of her chair and vanishing up into a -

“Entrapta, did you put _vents_ into the ship when you modified it??” Adora demands. She definitely doesn’t remember any First Ones structures having _vents_. 

“Maybe!” Entrapta yells, her laughter echoing metallically out through the open vent above them as she vanishes off to the engine room. 

“I will go with her,” Hordak says almost immediately, jumping from his seat.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t take any detours.” Catra says in a voice that brooks no argument.

“Get away from me!” Hordak snarls, hurrying off down the hallway, Catra close on his heels. Melog stretches, gives a resonating rowl, and then follows after them at a much more leisurely pace. Wrong Hordak looks around wearing a puzzled smile, and then wordlessly gets up and joins the parade of misfits headed to the engine room. 

Then the silence returns to the bridge. Adora looks up and out at space. It makes her chest clench unpleasantly. She can’t seem to stop tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair. 

“The Best Friends Squad is back in action,” Bow says. He’s smiling, but he sounds tired. 

“I know we literally have nothing we can do for the next four weeks of space travel,” Adora confesses suddenly, “and that we only just started this mission, but. I mean. I dunno. Are you guys… do you feel like…” she grits her teeth. “Nevermind. This should be easy. We’ve got our list of the four most likely locations. We figure out which one of them has the server, I turn into She-Ra and smash a big computer, and then we go home and drink pirate whiskey and play board games. It’ll be the most low-key mission we’ve ever gone on. Right?” 

“Right,” Glimmer says, looking concerned. 

“Right.” Adora repeats, nodding, trying to make herself feel certain. The clenching in her chest won’t go away. “Okay, well. Unless you guys need anything, I’m gonna, uh. Go to my room and see if anything got knocked over during liftoff, I guess.” She rises and slips away before Bow and Glimmer can interrogate her about her strange behaviour. The hallways are narrow enough that they remind her of some of the more claustrophobic parts of the Fright Zone, the kinds of places she and Catra used to hide and play in as kids that they eventually stopped being able to fit into. 

She walks almost in a daze until she gets to the room she and Catra are sharing. There’s a sensor pad there that she presses her hand to; after a quick scan of her palm the door whooshes open. She shuts it behind her and goes to the bed and lies down, even though she doesn’t feel tired at all. She feels… unstable, like she needs to be off her feet. Woozy, almost. Maybe she should nap? Maybe she should take off her shoes. Maybe she should take off her outer layer of clothing. If she’s trying to nap it would be more comfortable that way, right?

Adora doesn’t do any of these things. She stares, immobile, at the ceiling, and thinks about the tingling in her limbs, about the creeping sense of paralysis radiating out from her chest. 

Prime has had a two month head start to prepare for them. She doesn’t actually understand anything about the technology part of his immortality. She just knows that she was She-Ra, she saw the blight of Prime in Hordak’s body and banished it like a disease, healed it like a wound, killed it like a virus… and it didn’t stick. 

An enemy she can’t kill, even as She-Ra. What if he has more than one backup? What if he woke up back at his distant server and decided to make twenty more backups scattered across the galaxy? They could be chasing the fragments of Horde Prime their entire lives and not be able to stop him from splitting and multiplying and coming back to life again and again, and all it will take is letting one offshoot of Prime go undetected for long enough and Etheria could become like Krytis, the site of a horrific genocide with only ruins and straggling survivors. She’s trying to wrap her head around the idea of an enemy like this, and realizes it’s familiar - he’s like those robots she fought what felt like a lifetime ago, the ones that split and healed and multiplied any time you severed them. 

The bedroom door opens with a mechanical wheeze, but Adora feels trapped inside her own body and can’t even bring herself to look away from the spot on the ceiling her eyes have fixed themselves on. She keeps thinking about Horde Prime splitting and duplicating, splitting and duplicating, splitting and duplicating.

“Adora?” Catra inquires, shutting the door behind herself. Adora wants to answer, but the memory of how to make her mouth work feels distant and irrelevant. Her chest feels _so_ tight. Her limbs feel like they’re made of concrete. “Hey, Adora. Talk to me.” She can’t, she wants to say. Her jaw is one solid piece, her tongue is swollen and glued to the roof of her mouth, and she’s sinking into the bed. A tear trickles down the side of her face, and she isn’t completely sure why. “Ah, shit, okay,” Catra mutters. The mattress shifts as Catra climbs into their bed. Distantly, Adora feels like Catra is here to help, even if she’s not sure where that confidence comes from. 

Catra drapes herself over Adora like a blanket, her head against Adora’s shoulder, chest to chest, an arm around her waist. The weight of her is… good. Anchoring. Then the purring starts, loud and purposeful and rumbling, and Adora _remembers_ with a jolt. Catra used to do this for her when they were kids, especially when Shadow Weaver started talking more about her expectations for Adora, when Adora got put in charge of their cadet squad, when they first started talking about things like becoming Force Captain. She would find herself in bed, thinking in circles and getting tense, and Catra would just _know,_ somehow, and appear like magic to lie on Adora’s chest and purr and bring her back to reality. Adora exhales through her nose, trying to focus now on that sensation against her torso. The purring almost feels like it’s at war with the tight clenching, like the deep vibration can rattle the paralysis’s concentration and make it falter and release its hold on Adora. 

Letting Catra’s weight bring her back down, Adora makes herself breathe, makes herself unclench her jaw. When she finally feels like she’s able to move her arms, she entwines her fingers in Catra’s hair and gently holds her in place. Catra doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let up on the purring. Adora lies there and tries to pull her mind back into her body, to refocus her eyes. As the world solidifies, her loose hand on Catra’s head changes instead to an embrace. She wraps both arms around Catra, holds her tight, takes deeper breaths. 

“There you are,” Catra says. She sounds breathy and raspy, like the purring has left her throat raw. Adora curls in towards Catra and buries her face against Catra’s neck. She feels like she ought to say something, to reassure Catra that she’s feeling better, that she doesn’t need to worry. 

“I’ve missed you,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, and as she says it she realizes she’s crying. Catra’s fingers press soothingly against the back of her neck. 

“It’s okay,” Catra whispers, like they’re fifteen again and clinging to each other because there’s nothing else in their entire world that’s safe to cling to, “You’re okay. I’ve missed you too.” Adora doesn’t know how much time passes while she holds onto Catra and cries quiet tears into her shoulder, but eventually she feels wrung dry and the hazy terror that was gripping her feels less immediate. She pulls away from Catra and smiles, embarrassed, and quickly wipes her eyes. 

“Sorry,” Adora says softly. 

“Don’t be,” Catra says, brushing the apology off absentmindedly like she’s brushing a piece of lint off her shirt. “You’re still getting them, huh?” Her eyes are so solemn, so full of concern. She doesn’t give a name to that bout of clenching paralysis; they never did, when they were younger. Naming a weakness gave it form, made it real, and weakness was not permitted.

“I haven’t had one in a while,” Adora answers softly, giving herself a little convulsive shake like this will dispel the lingering specter of it. Catra puts a hand on Adora’s face, stroking her thumb against Adora’s cheekbone and holding her jaw so tenderly that Adora feels, for some reason, she ought to be ashamed. She’s supposed to be the strong one, she’s supposed to be the one who gives comfort. Catra fixes Adora with her eyes, expression piercing.

“Bow and Glimmer don’t know, do they?” Adora’s mouth goes dry at this question. 

“No,” she admits, looking down at the sheets rather than hold that accusatory stare. 

“They told me you were acting kind of weird. They were worried, even without really understanding what was going on.” Catra keeps stroking Adora’s face; Adora wishes she could melt into the gentle touch, but all her muscles feel like they’re tight cords of steel right now, incapable of releasing their tension. “They’re your friends. I really don’t think those two are gonna think any less of you for it.” 

“They’re your friends too,” Adora protests, and this earns a little smile from Catra.

“Don’t try to turn this around on me. We’re talking about _you_ right now.” Adora heaves a shaky sigh and closes her eyes, but it’s a sigh of relief, not disappointment. She loves Bow and Glimmer, really she does, but she’s missed Catra’s gruff, give-it-to-me-straight pep talks. 

“You’re probably right,” Adora concedes, sliding her arms down to wrap them around Catra’s waist instead of her shoulders. 

“I’m _always_ right,” Catra declares. They smile at each other; there’s a mutual sort of weariness in the smile. “Hey, I had this thought today I’ve been dying to tell you. I finally figured out who Perfuma reminds me of.” 

“Oh yeah? Who?”

_“Kyle.”_ Catra says, laughter dancing in her eyes. Adora starts to giggle. 

“Oh no, I’m never going to be able to unsee that,” she gasps. “Poor Perfuma!! I’ll never be able to take her seriously again.” 

“You took her seriously _ever?”_ Catra chortles. 

“Hey, you know first-hand how useful she is in a fight,” Adora counters. “And she’s really nice. I saw her going over to give you a goodbye present, you know. You can’t pretend to be mean and tough, you let her hug you and everything.” She pokes Catra’s side to emphasize her point, and Catra squeaks and squirms away.

“Okay, okay,” Catra laughs, batting Adora’s hands away. Safely out of poking range, Catra’s smile shifts down into a softer expression. “You feeling better?” 

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Come here?” Catra doesn’t even play at reluctance, just returns to Adora’s side without a second thought. Adora grabs the front of her shirt and kisses her, willing a thousand different thoughts and feelings into the kiss, hoping Catra will understand at least the most important one: _I love you._

  
  


**Glimmer**

“I hate not having my magic,” Glimmer confides quietly to Bow, slumping against the counter in the ship’s little kitchen. 

“I know,” he says sympathetically, looking up from the hot, sizzling skillet full of almost-lunch and neglecting it for three whole seconds to press a warm kiss to Glimmer’s lips. It still makes her feel absolutely giddy, that he just _does_ these things now, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him and always has been. She still feels nervous, initiating things with him, but he doesn’t seem to have any doubts or hesitations at all. “I think this should be done, you wanna go call everybody into the big room for lunch?” 

“Sure,” she says, reminded yet again of her disconnect from her magic by the fact that she has to physically walk the hallways and knock on doors to perform this task. She passes through ‘the big room’ on the way - it’s an accurate name, if not an especially creative one. After Entraptra’s redesign, it’s the most spacious room aside from the cargo hold, since it has to hold a long table big enough for eight to eat around. She and Bow haven’t been sure what to call it, since the plan is to use it for meetings and socializing as well as meals. Entrapta calls it the multiroom, which is apparently short for Multipurpose Activity Room. 

She starts with Catra and Adora, since she’s pretty sure they’re both in their room. The doors to the couples’ rooms are across the hall from each other, and Glimmer is looking forward to leaving their doors open and hanging out in each others’ spaces. The multiroom - which, okay, isn’t a terrible name for it she supposes - is bigger, but not quite as cozy, especially since Glimmer brought a pair of bean bag chairs for her and Bow’s room. She looks forward to Adora eventually admitting that the chairs were a great idea and not just a “waste of limited floor space”, once she’s sick of the hard utilitarian benches of the multiroom. 

Coming to the door, she knocks twice and waits. Then she knocks again. And waits. She’s starting to think maybe the soundproofing Bow assured her was going to be part of the design is a little _too_ good when the door finally wooshes open.

“Don’t get your twinkly little shorts in a twist,” Catra says, a smirk softening the barb, “we _said_ we were coming.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Glimmer says, surprised. “I couldn’t hear you at all through the closed door.” Catra’s eyebrows shoot up and she gives Adora a _look._

“Wow, we actually get _real_ privacy?” Catra croons, brushing past Glimmer and into the hallway, Adora following and shutting the door with a tolerant grin. “And you can’t even teleport in past the locked door? I am going to get so much - “

_“Catra,”_ Adora splutters, unable to stop her from finishing the sentence - 

“ - _reading_ done.” Catra trots happily down towards the multiroom, casting a wicked smile back over her shoulder at Glimmer and Adora. “What, did you think I was going to say something else? Tch. Get your minds out of the gutter, both of you.” 

“Wait, where are you going?” Adora asks, chasing after her.

“Lunch is ready, can’t you smell it? That’s what you came to tell us, right Sparkles?”

“Uh, yeah,” Glimmer says, smiling and shaking her head in wonder. “I’m gonna go get Entrapta and the Hordaks. Where’s Melog?”

“Exploring the vents. Likes ‘em about as much as Entrapta does, I think.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit!” She heads down the hall and down a hatch. The engine room isn’t her favourite place to be in general, let alone when it’s crowded with three people, and she’s tempted to just yell _lunch_ down the ladder and call that good. As she gets closer, she can hear the sound of raised voices. Uh oh. Is Entrapta in some kind of danger already? 

“ - _decades!”_ One of the Hordaks - almost certainly the right Hordak - yells. “You think you know the first thing about life without Prime? You think you understand _isolation,_ you dare to call me _brother_ and insinuate you have some _great wisdom_ for me on how to better tolerate the terrible _emptiness_ of existence? I endured nearly a _century_ on my own, my body withering before my eyes, my recollections of any sort of comfort or community becoming distant _shadows_ of anything meaningful.”

“My Brother - “ Wrong Hordak starts to say, sounding appalled and apologetic.

“Do _not_ call me that!” Hordak snarls. “We are _nothing_ alike. The very _notion_ that anybody could consider us similar would be laughable if it were not the greatest insult anybody has ever _dared_ to lay at my feet.” Glimmer is frozen on the ladder, halfway down to the engine room. Maybe this is a good time to interrupt? 

“Lunch is ready!” She shouts, deciding to be a coward and avoid going down in there with them. 

“Ooo, lunch!” Entrapta answers. “Come on, guys.” She doesn’t sound disturbed in the slightest by the argument that was just happening in the same room as her - but then, maybe she just has a different way of processing conflict. Eager to stay out of their way, Glimmer scrambles back up the ladder and starts up down the hallway. She hurries to the multiroom, really not wanting to be stuck in the narrow corridors with angry Hordak. 

Hordak isn’t really what she imagined he’d be like. She’d always pictured him as sort of a worse Shadow Weaver, even more evil and manipulative and sadistic - which, now that she thinks about it, more accurately describes Horde Prime than Hordak. Hordak himself just sort of seems to be an angry jerk, without much inclination for social engineering or outsmarting people. She’d been worried having him around would stress Adora out like crazy, like it did when they had Shadow Weaver in Bright Moon, but that hasn’t seemed to be the case at all. Adora seems almost unaffected by him. 

And if she’d worried that Hordak would be all buddy-buddy with Catra and somehow sway her back to the side of darkness, well. That fear had certainly been unfounded. The two seem to _loathe_ each other. 

“Smells good in here!” She says, turning into the multiroom just in time to see Catra quickly pull her hand out of Adora’s underneath the table. Cute. She wonders just how many weeks of them being crushed together on this ship that modesty will last. 

“For you,” Bow declares chipperly, sliding a steaming plate of stir fry into a spot on the table. 

“Why _thank_ you, kind sir,” she replies, in her most obnoxiously courtly voice. It makes him grin, and that makes _her_ grin. The cheery atmosphere of the room changes abruptly when Hordak enters, bringing his sour mood with him like a stormcloud. He stands in the doorway until Entrapta pushes him inside, and then he sits as far as possible from the rest of them, face locked into a furious grimace. Bow wordlessly puts a plate in front of him, apparently overcome by his good host instincts. Entrapta plunks herself down beside Hordak and immediately starts chattering with Bow about the readings she’s collected so far; Wrong Hordak picks the open seat next to Adora on the opposite side from Catra and inquires about Adora’s day so far with a polite smile. That’s adorable, when did they teach him to do that? 

They sit and eat for a while in an awkward semi-silence that only Entrapta seems immune to. Glimmer is trying to wrap her head around the fact that this is going to be their new normal for at least the next two months, eating meals knee-to-knee with old enemies and new lovers every day, unsure of how to interact as a group. 

“My brothers,” Wrong Hordak says after a while - Glimmer notices Hordak flinch at this address - “I have been wondering something that I had hoped you might shed some light on. The tradition of individual names is a foreign one to me, but from what I understand has long been the standard in your culture. There has been quite a lot of discussion about the selection of names for oneself among my brothers back on Etheria. If it is not an inappropriate question to ask, will you tell me where all your names came from, and how you selected them?” 

“Most people don’t pick their own names,” Bow says, the first one willing to attempt this interesting but unusual topic. “They’re usually given names as babies by their parents.” 

“You have explained parents to me before, I believe - they are the - the elder brother figures within a small social unit that is tied by bonds of ancestry?” 

“Uh, sort of,” Bow says, tapping his fork against his lower lip as he mulls over how to explain the concept of a parent. “Parents are people who raise and take care of a child or multiple children.”

“Children - Brother Frosta is one of these, yes? An incomplete individual that has been removed from their growth chamber too soon.” 

“Etherians do not _use_ growth chambers,” Hordak sneers at Wrong Hordak from across the table. “Their gestation takes place as a short-term parasitic affair on a host parent, until the child is complete enough to be expelled and survive on its own.”

“That has to be the single grossest description of pregnancy I have ever heard,” Glimmer says, pushing her plate of mostly-eaten food away. 

“Largely accurate in its technicalities, though,” Entrapta says. 

“I do not understand,” Wrong Hordak says, expression puzzled. “Etherians do not use growth chambers? That would stretch months of physical development out across years and years. What purpose could that possibly serve?” 

“The opportunity for social skill and mental development within the context of society,” Entrapta explains to him, with a clear and clinical point of view that seems to get the notion across better than Glimmer thinks her brewing tirade about the importance of childhood would have accomplished. 

“Oh,” Wrong Hordak says, seeming to come to a sudden realization, “yes, of course, this would explain why Etherians seem so fluent in such a vast range of specialized social behaviours.” He pauses thoughtfully. “It is all so very different from everything I have ever known.” Glimmer catches Hordak rolling his eyes at this. “So the elder brothers of the social unit - the _parents_ \- assign each individual a unique name upon completion of the parasitic phase?” 

“That’s called being born,” Glimmer corrects, very much hoping to not hear the word _parasitic_ again. “And yeah, that’s typically how that happens. When a baby is born, the parent or parents give it a name. Sometimes people change their names though, if the one they were given ended up not being quite right.” 

“And how do these parents select the name? If development is largely incomplete by the time the individual is born, they cannot give suggestions or feedback of their own.” 

“Some families have traditions about names,” Bow says. “My dad Lance comes from a family of fighters, so the tradition was that the oldest son would be named after the dad’s primary weapon of choice.”

“But wait, Bow,” Adora says, confused, “Aren’t you the youngest of thirteen?”

“Well, see, my other dad George _really_ didn’t like the idea of naming a kid Bow. So they kept having kids and every time it was a boy, Lance would ask if he could name _this_ one using the family tradition, and George kept saying _maybe the next one, honey_ , secretly hoping the rest of the kids would be daughters. I guess when it came to me he finally gave up.” 

“That is _wild,”_ Glimmer blurts, “I had no idea. I guess I never put two and two together and thought about the fact that one of your dads’ names is Lance.” 

“Coming from a girl named _Glimmer,”_ Catra chortles, stuffing her face with stir fry, apparently unbothered by all the talk about biological functions. 

“Uh, actually - “ Glimmer says, turning warm. “I’ve never told you guys this, and you wouldn’t know, but. That was actually an accident.” 

“Wait, how did your parents _accidentally_ name you Glimmer?” Bow gawps. 

“You know, I _did_ wonder that,” Adora says, leaning forward with interest. “Your mom’s name is Angella and your dad’s is Micah. Glimmer doesn’t sound like a name that comes from either of their families.” 

“So - “ Glimmer says, working up the courage to tell this story and reveal this dark secret of her past, “ - apparently, when my mom was pregnant with me, she wouldn’t tell my dad what she wanted my name to be, for whatever reason, until right when I was born. And I guess I was kind of a difficult birth, and she was really tired, so by the time they asked her what she wanted to name me, when she said Glimma, my dad misheard her and thought she was trying to say Glimmer? And he was just so completely in love with her that he didn’t even question it, just wrote down my name as Glimmer and, well, that was that.” Just about everybody at the table is gaping at her. 

“Your name was supposed to be _Glimma?”_ Bow blurts. 

“Glimma,” Adora says, testing the name in her mouth. “Oh! Oh, I hear it now, I hear it in how your mom always said your name! Wow!”

“I can’t believe your dad just rolled with that,” Bow wheezes. “My wife wants to name this kid Glimmer? Sure, absolutely.” 

“Coming from a guy named _Bow!”_ She retorts defensively, giving him a playful shove. 

“You guys have such interesting etymologies behind your names,” Entrapta says, actually looking genuinely enthralled by the conversation. “I’m just named after my grandmother.” Melog, sitting at the end of the table, looks up from their bowl of food and says something. Everybody is politely quiet while they rowl and yowl and huff and make other strange noises, and then when Melog seems to be finished they all turn to Catra for a translation. 

“They say, uh. On Krytis, people have lots of different names, and you’ll use different names for someone based on, like, your relationship with them? I think? It sounds kind of abstract.” Melog says some more things, and Catra starts to look a little flustered. “The name they gave us to use for them is, uh, apparently the one they prefer for using with new friends.” Glimmer suspects there was something else said that went untranslated, since that doesn’t sound like the kind of revelation that would make Catra blush like that. 

“I wish I knew where my name comes from,” Adora says, out of the blue. The table is quiet for a minute, because it sounds like she’s going to continue that thought, and then to Glimmer’s surprise Adora looks up suddenly and turns her eyes on Hordak. “You don’t know, do you? Where my name came from?” 

“I - “ Hordak seems just as startled as the rest of them, to be asked this so bluntly and neutrally by Adora. “I do not know, no. You were given to Shadow Weaver almost immediately after your retrieval from the portal.” His answer is stiff, but not cruel. He seems like he genuinely has no idea. 

“I tried asking Shadow Weaver once when I was a kid, but she just brushed me off. I’d been thinking about trying again, after I found out that I’m a First One, since Mara is sort of a similar name. I was trying to figure out if there was some way she could have actually known the name my First Ones parents gave me, or like, if it was written onto my clothes or something? But I guess she wouldn’t have been able to read First Ones writing anyways.” She shrugs, dejectedly stabbing a vegetable, eyes on her plate. “Guess I’ll never know, now.” This is the first time Glimmer’s heard her even allude to Shadow Weaver’s death during the final battle against Prime. Just how many loose ends in Adora’s heart are going to remain that way forever, she wonders? 

“May I ask, br - “ Wrong Hordak catches himself, - “Hordak, how you selected your name?” 

“No, you may not,” Hordak says icily. 

“Ah,” Wrong Hordak says, and an awkward silence falls over the table. Glimmer’s about to jump up and start clearing plates when Catra beats her to breaking the tension:

“Adora gave me my name,” she says, casual as anything. 

“Wait, what?” Bow asks, flabbergasted. He looks to Adora as if for confirmation, and Glimmer finds herself doing the same. Adora blushes when she notices them staring, and gives a little shrug. 

“We were really little kids,” Adora says sheepishly. “She didn’t have a name, or she wouldn’t tell me what it was, and so I just came up with one for her.”

“And it stuck,” Catra says, with a shrug of her own, like this is a totally normal childhood experience. 

“Fascinating,” Wrong Hordak says cheerfully, turning his attention to Adora. “What was the rationale used for deciding upon the name?” Adora’s blush gets deeper.

“Uh, well, I was maybe like, I dunno… four or five years old at the time, so I wasn’t exactly, you know, _super creative._ I asked Shadow Weaver why this new kid had a tail and big ears and she told me it was because she’s a cat… and _my_ name was Adora, and I just decided I wanted her to be my best friend, so… Cat… ra.” 

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Bow whispers, his eyes glistening with tears. “I can’t believe Adora _named_ you.” 

“Is it not common, for friends to give one another names?” Wrong Hordak inquires, looking like he’s taking a huge pile of mental notes on this whole conversation. 

“Definitely not common,” Glimmer says, catching Adora’s eye and flashing her a tiny, barely-restrained smirk. 

“What can I say,” Catra preens, putting on a show of magnificent confidence that is clearly intended to conceal whatever embarrassment she feels, stretching out and then rising to take her plate to the kitchen, “I’m one of a kind.” Cued by Catra getting up from the bench, they all finish up and collect dishes up for depositing into the dishbot, which beeps cheerfully every time it receives a new piece of filthy cutlery and responds with extra beeping to Entrapta’s delighted praise. 

“Alright, Sudsy,” Entrapta croons to it, excitedly closing the door and pressing buttons. “Time for your first real test run.” 

“Please tell me that robot isn’t going to spew dirty dishwater all over the ship,” Glimmer sighs. 

“Hey, don’t worry,” Adora says, “worst case scenario, you happen to have someone on board who can summon a mop from thin air.” 

“You are the single most overqualified janitor the universe has ever seen,” Glimmer retorts. 

  
“Aw,” Adora laughs, “thanks.” Adora still seems a little _off,_ but Glimmer can’t quite put her finger on why. Ah well. They’ve got four weeks to kill - at some point she can drag Adora into a beanbag chair for some girl talk and get to the bottom of it.


	19. Comfort

**Bow**

“Mmm, I can feel you looking at me, Bow,” Glimmer mutters, rolling over without opening her eyes and pressing her back against his chest. He smiles, leaning in to place a kiss on her shoulder. Her writhing against him would likely start something kindling anew if they literally hadn’t just finished round two of the evening. 

“I like looking at you,” he says, low and warm and affectionate. He watches as the smile spreads across her face, getting a good view from his position propped up on one elbow. She answers this by tracing her fingertips up the arm he has wrapped around her waist. “What’re you thinking about? I can tell when something’s on your mind, you know.” 

“I mean, I _was_ just thinking about how much I liked that thing you did right at the end there.” Her voice dips into sultry, and Bow re-evaluates how possible it is he’ll be up for a round three tonight. He can feel she’s on the verge of admitting what’s actually been bothering her, though, and that this teasing flicker is just a redirection. He has two options: take the bait and let her lead them down another sweaty, thrilling diversion, or continue to apply gentle pressure and get her to talk. It is so, so tempting to follow her lead. He decides that since this is the only thing resembling a vacation they’ve had in a long, long time, he’s going to be self-indulgent for once. 

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, stroking a thumb across her ribs fondly, “I definitely want to hear more about anything specific you liked or disliked. Honest feedback,” Bow whispers against her ear, “is the fastest way to get what you want.” Glimmer shivers against him and gives a heated little huff that reassures him it’s not a bad shiver. 

“Only _you_ could make healthy communication habits sound sexy,” she retorts, plucking his hand from her chest and bringing it to her mouth so she can kiss his knuckles. He’s about to respond when she slips her mouth, hot and wet and warm, around one of his fingers, and his mind goes utterly blank. 

An hour later, he’s about to drift blissfully off to sleep after an incredibly enjoyable round three when Glimmer, currently the big spoon, whispers:

“Still awake?”

“Mmm. Barely. What’s up?” 

“Just thinking.” 

“What about?” Bow pulls himself back from the precipice of sleep, wanting to give Glimmer his full attention. He cracks his eyes open, and strokes circles on the back of Glimmer’s hand so that the motion will help keep him conscious. 

“Did Adora seem… I dunno, _off_ to you today?” 

“She did,” Bow agrees. Her smiles seemed fake and her shoulders tense all day, and she kept flitting around checking on things that really didn’t need to be checked on. He recognizes the behaviour from the years they’ve been friends. “She’s tense and wound-up about something, probably the mission.”

“Doing that thing where she decides everything is completely her responsibility and she’s not allowed to ask for help,” Glimmer mutters, pressing her face between Bow’s shoulder blades. “I was sort of hoping she was over that.”

“Not exactly an easy habit to break, I don’t think,” Bow says gently, still drawing light circles against Glimmer’s hand. “I’m glad she’s got Catra, at least. But we should still probably talk to her about it.”

“Before it gets worse,” Glimmer groans. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.” She falls quiet, and Bow thinks for a minute this is the end of the conversation and starts to drift off. “I overheard Hordak yelling at Wrong Hordak today,” she says, without any lead-in. Bow stiffens up and frowns.

“Yelling at him? What the heck for? Wrong Hordak doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Hordak was saying something about, like, how Wrong Hordak can’t possibly understand how lonely it was to be cut off from Prime for like a hundred years or something… I think he said something about like, trying to make his own identity, not wanting to be compared to him, or something…? It was really messy.” Her sleepy recounting of the argument is vague.

“Do we need to try to keep those two apart? I mean, I kind of just assumed they’d get along because they have so much in common, and because Wrong Hordak is just like… so gentle and easy-going.” 

“I have no idea how we’d keep two people apart on this tiny ship,” she says, sounding like she’s already mostly asleep. 

“We can talk about it in the morning,” he says, losing the fight against his own exhaustion.

“Mkay,” is all Glimmer says. A moment later, she’s gently snoring.

  
  


**Catra**

She wakes up and Adora isn’t in the bed with her. Jolting up, heart instantly going into overdrive, Catra looks frantically around the room and then has to try to calm herself when Adora’s right there, standing by the far wall. Adora’s holding a marker, looking focused. She’s drawn - no, written - something on the metal panel. It doesn’t look like she’s noticed Catra is awake, so Catra untangles herself from the blankets and from Melog and crosses the small room to join her. 

“Hey,” Catra says, and Adora looks back over her shoulder at her with a smile. There are dark circles under Adora’s eyes, and the smile is genuine but tired. “How long have you been awake?”

“A while. Not sure. I was having trouble sleeping.” 

“Nightmares?” Catra comes up behind her and wraps her arms around Adora just because she can. Adora’s eyes flutter shut for a moment at the touch, and Catra considers this a win even though Adora’s shoulders are still tense. 

“Not tonight. I just couldn’t get my mind to stop.” 

“What’ve you been up to?” Catra scans the grid Adora’s drawn on their bedroom wall, reads the careful writing in each box. “Is this a schedule?” 

“I realized it was driving me crazy that everything was so open-ended between now and when we get to the Tri-Solar System. I decided I should just figure out a daily routine, give the days a little more structure.”

“That doesn’t seem like a terrible idea,” Catra concedes, refusing to let go of Adora just yet, “but it probably could have waited until morning.” 

“Probably,” Adora sighs. 

“You should talk to Bow and Glimmer today.”

“I know, I just… I just feel like I’m letting them down.” 

“You’re the one that was lecturing me about opening up during moments of weakness,” Catra counters, rubbing her forehead absently against the side of Adora’s neck. “What’s the worst that’ll happen, they make you some soup?” Adora laughs at this, relaxing just the tiniest bit more in Catra’s arms. “What time even is it?” 

“I have no idea,” Adora says, opening her eyes to study the schedule she’s written, twisting the marker in her hands. “The ‘morning’ lights started coming on a little while ago.” Since they’re in space with no actual day-night cycle, Entrapta has programmed a sequence of different levels of lighting intended to match the length of a typical Etherian day. Instead of pouring in through open windows, their mornings arrive as a gentle orange glow emanating from the baseboards and expanding over several hours up the support columns before finally activating the overhead ‘daytime’ lights. 

Catra examines what Adora’s written for her day-to-day activities, trying to decide how she feels about it. There’s a line between refusing to allow yourself time off and making sure you’ve got the mental safety net of structure. Adora has always been more into structure than Catra, ever since they were kids. She thrived with the rigid oversight and lack of individuality. Well, maybe not thrived. But it didn’t ever seem like it was crushing Adora the way it was always crushing Catra. Like she found it calming instead of claustrophobic. 

“I see a lot of time here dedicated to training and planning sessions,” Catra remarks, “and no days off.”

“There’s structured downtime,” Adora objects, pointing the marker at a one-hour time slot allocated each evening. 

“Adora, our schedules weren’t even this tight when we were cadets. What about all that talk about taking up new hobbies and sleeping in and playing idiotic board games with your idiotic friends? I thought you were looking forward to all that.” 

“I was,” Adora sighs, pulling away from Catra to pace the room. “But then I started thinking about what we might be walking into. We don’t know how the backup server works. If Prime rebooted back in the Tri-Solar System the moment I killed him on Etheria, that means he’s had months to rebuild, to plan, to prepare. I can’t just sit around goofing off this whole time. I need to be _ready._ I need to be even stronger than before, because we’re going into this without any information, and we need to be prepared for the worst possible scenario.” 

“I feel like I need to argue with you,” Catra says, intercepting Adora and catching her by the wrist, “but I’m too tired. Come back to bed for a bit?” Adora makes a face that means she’s about to say no even though she wants to say yes, so Catra adds in a low tone, “I have an idea or two about how to make your mind stop running in circles, at least for a little while.” This gets Adora’s attention, turning her cheeks and the tips of her ears pink. 

“Oh yeah?” She casts a glance at their bed, and then her budding smile falls when her eyes land on Melog, still asleep in the residual warmth of Catra’s recently abandoned spot. 

“I’ll get them to leave,” Catra says quickly, “they won’t mind.”

“No, Catra, they look so peaceful, you don’t have to - “ but Catra’s already crawling into the bed, putting a gentle palm against one broad purple shoulder. Melog makes a noise and rolls over, blinking their eyes open.

“Good morning, Ceweldan,” she says softly. They rumble with pleasure. 

“Good morning, Catra,” they say, “You remembered.”

“Of course I did. Did I get the pronunciation right?” 

“Approximately. You’re concerned but also aroused, and looking for a favor. Alone time with your loved one? You know I will be happy to facilitate.”

“You’re too good to me. Can I pay you back somehow?” 

“Relay to the one with the arrows that I liked the red things but not the brown things that were in yesterday’s food.”

“I’ll pass the message on.” She smiles, and then moves out of the way so Melog can roll artlessly out of the bed, stretch, rub fondly against Adora, and then show themselves out of the bedroom using their nose on the palm scanner. 

“What was that you called them?” Adora inquires, equal parts curious and confused. 

“Ceweldan,” Catra repeats, blushing a little, “but you should keep calling them Melog. It’s the name they let their close friends call them. They asked me to start calling them that yesterday at lunch when we had that whole conversation about names.”

“I was wondering what had you so flustered,” Adora says warmly. Catra only smiles back at her and scoots into the bed without breaking eye contact, inviting Adora to join her with a little pat on the mattress. Something about the innocently-intended gesture must flick a switch inside of Adora, Catra realizes, because there’s a sudden uptick in her heart rate. Interesting. She’ll file that piece of information away for later. Adora joins her on the bed and Catra decides this deserves the wordless praise of a kiss, which Adora responds to with sleepy earnestness. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” Catra murmurs, holding Adora’s face like it might be the last time she ever gets to, because it still feels like this could all be taken away from her at any moment. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, smiling and lifting her arms. Catra pulls the sleep shirt up and over Adora’s head, allowing herself one small moment of staring at her in a daze before refocusing on her goal. 

“I want you to turn around and lie face down on the bed,” she says, kissing Adora’s ear and testing the waters by putting a little more undertone of command into the request. There it is, the slightly harder breathing, slightly faster pulse, the tiniest huff of air escaping Adora’s lips. 

“Okay,” Adora says, putting on a confused-but-tolerant smile, playing the part of someone who is reluctantly going along with something weird. Catra knows better, both because they’ve talked about this a little bit and because she can literally smell when Adora’s getting turned on. Once Adora obeys - and that is what she’s doing, _obeying_ \- and is face down on the bed, shirt off, Catra settles herself on Adora’s back, knees on either side of her. Adora is so beautiful like this, so vulnerable and trusting but also so strong and solid and alive between Catra’s legs. Her back is a damn masterpiece. Catra feels like a thief in a palace vault sometimes, when she touches Adora. There’s no way she has any right to be running her hands across something so exquisite. 

“Tell me if you want it harder or softer,” Catra says, at the first press of her knuckles into Adora’s tense back. She can dig nice and deep with her knuckles, unlike with her fingertips - it’s difficult to keep her claws in when she’s flexing or straining her hands, which makes them unsuited to soothing massage. Between doing it this way and using the heels of her hands, though, she’s got a decent range of tools at her disposal for trying to work out some of the many knots in Adora’s shoulders. Adora lets out a little groan and tenses up even more at first, so Catra doesn’t push quite so hard. The result is that Adora unclenches her shoulders - just like her to say what she wants with her body instead of with her words. 

“You don’t have to,” Adora mumbles into the pillow. Catra kneads at the taut expanse of her back with stubborn adoration. She considers a number of different retorts to this absurd statement, including _you wouldn’t keep me around long if you made me do stuff_ or _this would be a pretty weird relationship if back rubs were mandatory_ , but she decides maybe it’s safe to say something softer and a little more open, alone in their shared bedroom with the warm glow of fake morning lights rising around them. 

“I want to. You work too damn hard. You deserve to feel good.” She smiles down at Adora’s back as she works circles into the base of her neck with her first two knuckles. “You’re allowed.” Adora responds with another low groan, but this time her muscles stay slack. Good noise, then. Catra works in silence for a while, pitting her determination against Adora’s astonishing tension. She’s never done this before, exactly, but Adora’s been casually rubbing her neck and shoulders the last few weeks and showing her just how nice it can feel, so she understands enough of the principle to apply it. She works her way from Adora’s neck down to her shoulders, where she spends a lot of time, and then down her back. 

Shortly after Catra reaches her lower back, she realizes from the cadence of her breathing that Adora has fallen asleep. Catra withdraws her hands delicately, not wanting to break the spell. Once she's confident that Adora’s properly unconscious, Catra repositions herself so that she’s lying on Adora instead of sitting on her. If Adora wants to wake up and go back to being aggressively productive, she’ll have to wake Catra up to do it. 

**Wrong Hordak**

“Oh, hello Brother Bow!”

“Hey Wrong Hordak!” Bow turns and offers a warm smile; it’s very reassuring. 

Here in space, he does not preach, and so he no longer thinks of himself as the preacher. Who is he? It is tempting to see himself as the counterpoint to Hordak, the way the Etherians seem to, but that does not seem accurate. So, now travelling with these companions once more, he thinks of himself instead as the traveller. 

“What are you doing? It smells very interesting in here. The aroma is… pleasing, but not in a way that stimulates my hunger. Oh, but it _has_ stirred action in my salivary glands.” Bow laughs good-naturedly, shifting about in the small kitchen to allow the traveller to see what he’s doing. There are four mugs filled with a brown fluid; steam rises off of them, indicating heat. 

“Making some hot cocoa for a Best Friends Squad chat. You want some? I think I’ve got enough hot water to make one more.” 

“Is hot cocoa simply to generate a pleasant smell?”

“No, you drink it! Typically anything you’d put in a mug is something that you’re expected to drink.” The traveller brings his face closer to the mugs, inhaling deeply. Yes, very pleasant to smell. He is less certain about the notion of consuming this scalding liquid. Perhaps Etherians have very sturdy esophagus linings. 

“The temperature seems likely to injure me, if I were to drink it,” he says apologetically. 

“Oh, you normally want to wait until it’s a little cooler. It starts out hot and then once it’s just warm instead of super hot, that’s when you drink it.” Bow adds some small white cylinders to the mugs.

“What are those? Can you drink them as well? They appear to be solid.” 

“These are mini marshmallows! They sort of melt from the heat and become gooey enough to swallow without chewing.” Of all the things the traveller has struggled to catalog about life with Etherians, remembering which edible items must be chewed and which should not be chewed has provided him with significant difficulty. There are days when he misses the simplicity of the amniotic fluids. “They’re made of like, sugar and plant goo, so they’re really soft and sweet.” 

“I see,” says the traveller, smiling at Brother Bow although the purpose of this hot beverage alchemy is mysterious to him. 

“Here, you can have the one I made for myself, it’s been sitting for a while so it should be safe to drink. I’ll make a new one. Try it!” He offers the traveller a mug that is decorated with writing from the First Ones peoples, although it is clearly not an ancient relic. Curious.

“What is the purpose of the writing on this mug? Does it indicate individual ownership of this object?” Another new concept that he and many of his brothers have struggled with. The Etherians become very upset if one interacts with an object that they feel they have ownership of, even if there is no clear label to communicate that ownership. 

“No, it’s one of my dads’ old mugs. It was supposed to say something like _don’t talk to me until after I’ve had my morning coffee_ and when Adora told them it actually says _leave me alone I will eat this angry bean until forever_ my dad George just about peed himself laughing and insisted we keep the mug as a gift.” Ah, the elder brothers of Bow’s social unit who bestowed his name upon him! 

“I see!” Hordak says, not understanding why the incorrect text translation would cause laughter or involuntary elimination, but happy to know he isn’t upsetting his friend by using an object he is possessive of. He brings it up to his face, and ah, the close range makes the smell very appealing! He takes a tentative little sip, and a sensation of the purest joy flows through his body. His eyes snap open, his smile comes alive. “This - this is _wonderful!”_ Brother Bow laughs, looking away from his task of making a new mug of cocoa to smile back at the traveller. 

“I’m really glad you like it. I’ll make sure to make a mug for you anytime I’m whipping up a batch.” 

“That is very kind of you,” the traveller says, trying to match the tone of filial affection. The Etherians have been so good to him. He truly does not understand why Hordak is so hateful towards them. He takes another sip of the hot cocoa, and marvels at the pleasant sensation of the warmth flowing through his body and the sweet taste dancing in his mouth. Amniotic fluid might be convenient and simple, but it has never made him feel this way. 

“I’m gonna bring these back to my room - were you looking for something in the kitchen?” 

“Oh, yes - Brother Entrapta requested some snacks. She mentioned a box of - “ he strains to recall the phrase she used - “teeny tiny cookies?” 

“I know just the ones,” Bow says, opening a cupboard and retrieving a box. He hands it to the traveller with a smile. “You don’t have to run errands for her if you don’t want to, you know. She can get her own cookies sometimes.” 

“I don’t mind. I like to be helpful, and - “ _and it was good to have a break from Hordak’s presence,_ he stops himself from saying. It feels wrong to even think something like that about one of his fellow clones. He certainly should not be saying it out loud. “ - and the journey to the kitchen is a very short one. Thank you for your help, my brother.” He holds the box in one hand and the mug in the other, grateful for the convenient handle. Bow displays impressive dexterity by using these same handles to carry four at once, two in each hand. “Be careful you do not scald yourself,” he remarks, concerned especially by the most recently poured beverage. 

“I’ll be careful,” Bow says with a grin. “This is probably the _least_ dangerous thing I’ve done in the last three years.” 

“I see!” What a life of endless peril. They walk out into the corridor together, Bow in front so that he can set the pace, and the traveller offers farewells as they part ways at the open door of Bow and Glimmer’s room. There are several people inside, and he is tempted to linger and join them, lured by the soft sounds of their companionable chatter. He does, however, have a box of ‘teeny tiny cookies’ to deliver, and so he continues down the hallway and soothes himself with another sip of cocoa. It really is so very pleasant.


	20. Better Together

**Glimmer**

“So,” Glimmer starts, bolstered by her sip of hot cocoa, “Catra showed us your schedule, Adora.” Adora looks up at her guiltily from where she’s slouched in the blue bean bag chair. She doesn’t say anything, but she gets a set to her jaw like she’s getting ready to defend herself. Okay. Glimmer needs to be careful about how she approaches the issue. Ugh. Does she have the words for this? The tact? She sends a quick glance over at Bow sitting on the bed next to her, already silently begging him for help. Thankfully he picks up the unspoken request and takes the lead. 

“We understand that you’re worried we won’t be ready, that we’ll get there and Prime will have been preparing for us this whole time. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be ready for him, wanting to keep our skills sharp and keep brainstorming what we could possibly anticipate from him.” 

“But?” Challenges Adora. Catra jumps in before Bow has a chance to continue, dashing all of Glimmer’s hope that they can broach this gingerly.

“But if you wear yourself ragged and keep yourself locked up in the brig hitting a punching bag six hours a day, and then go and spend the rest of the day imagining different ways Prime could be recovered and ready to ruin everything, you’re just going to get yourself more and more worked up and freaked out, instead of actually feeling like you have any control over the situation,” Catra says with scalpel-sharp clarity. Adora flinches, and Catra reaches apologetically across the space between their two bean bag chairs to put a hand on Adora’s knee. The next thing she says is soft, quiet, and almost embarrassed. “Isolating yourself and working yourself into a froth about how important it is you win the next fight is just going to make you lonely and sloppy and exhausted, instead of into the perfect super-soldier. Trust me, I have pretty intimate experience with that whole line of thinking.” This statement hangs over the room heavily and unpleasantly, so Glimmer clears her throat in an attempt to dispel it. 

“And anyways, you’re _not_ alone, and you don’t have to think of yourself as the one to fix this. We’re a team.”

“But I’m the one who couldn’t kill him properly,” Adora says, eyes fixed on the surface of her hot cocoa. 

“Not exactly your fault the thousands-of-years-old megalomaniac made preparations to protect himself in case something went wrong during his conquering of the universe,” Bow counters. “And you’re the one that even thought to wonder about that possibility.” Glimmer’s not totally sure if that’ll just feed into Adora’s complex about being the only one who can fix things, but Bow’s already put it out there, so. Oh well. Hopefully Adora takes it as the reassurance it’s meant to be. 

“Look, Adora,” Glimmer says, “if you’re freaking out about this mission, you should just _talk_ to us about it. We’re your friends. We don’t want you to suffer alone, and we definitely don’t want you to punish yourself with some awful training regimen just so you can avoid thinking about the things that are upsetting you.” 

“I _like_ training regimens,” Adora protests weakly. 

“We’re not saying you can’t train,” Bow says, “but it can’t be the only way you deal with your stress. That isn’t healthy. And it’s important that we communicate honestly as a team instead of retreating into our own heads.”

“We all know how that turns out,” Glimmer says, and it comes out a little more bitter than she’d intended it to. Adora looks struck, and Glimmer realizes with a jolt of horror that she might think Glimmer was talking about _her,_ and not expressing her own guilt. “I’m talking about myself,” she adds quickly, her hand shooting out to rest on Adora’s shoulder. “We would never even have left Despondos and attracted Prime’s attention if I had just gotten over myself and talked to you guys about my frustrations and my fears and insecurities.” Adora frowns up at her and shifts her untouched mug of cocoa to one hand so she can put the other one on top of Glimmer’s. She heaves a sigh, leaning her head to the side to put her cheek on top of their stack of hands. 

“I just really hate that we don’t know what we’re going to find when we get there. I know I’ve been guilty of rushing into fights blind before, but the stakes are so _high._ I can’t stop thinking about how it’s impossible to really prepare for something we don’t know anything about.” 

“So we work on getting more intel, instead of just letting our imaginations run wild,” Bow says, calm and steady and rational. It makes Glimmer’s heart swell with love for him, appreciation for everything he’s done for them in the fight for Etheria. “I’m sure Entrapta would be excited by the challenge of trying to get some early information with the long-range sensors, and Glimmer wanted to do some intergalactic diplomacy while we were out exploring the wider universe anyways. We can check the course Darla’s plotted out for us and try to find some opportunities to get into comms range of other populated planets, see what we can learn.” Glimmer watches Adora’s face carefully, and thinks she sees this suggestion easing some of Adora’s immediate fears. 

“And don’t forget,” Glimmer adds, “the last backup transfer was eighty years ago. Even if the way the server works is that he wakes back up there ready to go, he won’t have any memory of how he got killed. We still have that advantage over him.” 

“And we have the Hordaks,” Catra adds. She doesn’t sound like she’s thinking of them as allies so much as assets. “I’m still not convinced we’ve squeezed out as much information as we can out of them. That’s why we brought them along, right? In case they have insights about all this stuff that we couldn’t get any other way.”

“True,” Adora muses. “We never would have found Melog and learned about Krytis if it hadn’t been for Wrong Hordak.”

“So why don’t we take a couple days to brainstorm some questions to ask them both that might jog their memories or give us something useful?” Bow suggests. “I don’t hate the idea of having regular planning sessions, I just think aiming for daily three-hour-long ones is going to be counterproductive. If I’ve learned anything from all my tinkering and inventing, it’s that brains need time to breathe and focus on other things, when it comes to tricky problems.”

“He means downtime,” Catra ‘translates’ impishly, giving Adora a poke in the side. Adora emits a little strangled noise and straightens up, taking her head and hand away from Glimmer’s to poke back at Catra. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna spill my cocoa!”

“You’re lucky you have that cocoa to protect you,” Adora says threateningly, her smile exposing just how very not-serious she’s being. The smile fades as she returns to the topic at hand and looks back over at Bow and Glimmer. “Okay, so, maybe the frantic daily plan I came up with in the early hours of the morning isn’t reasonable,” she concedes. “I still want to stay on top of my training.” 

“I do too,” Glimmer says, thinking about the parting gift her father presented her with. A precious, limited supply of magical reagents to allow her to utilize sorcery away from Etheria’s inherent magic, and several of his old school textbooks from when he started learning more advanced spells. “I think it’s a good idea to keep training and practicing, especially now _because_ we have the luxury of time, we can really fine-tune things that before we just couldn’t afford to worry about. I have a bunch of spells I only kind of know how to do, and a bunch of new ones I want to learn. I can work on that now for a couple hours a day without worrying that any time I spend on getting better at magic is time I should be spending running a kingdom or fighting on the front lines.” 

“That’s… actually a really good point. Huh.” Adora seems briefly stunned by this revelation, and takes an absentminded sip of her cocoa. Her eyes go wide and she looks down, and then whispers with an intense reverence: “This is really good.” Bow beams brightly and elbows Glimmer in the side. 

“I told you it’d help,” he hisses, vindicated. 

“We can sit down together tonight after dinner and figure out a new schedule,” Glimmer says, ignoring Bow’s gloating. “One that includes time for both training and board games. And days off. And we’ll make a plan to get more information as we get closer. We’re not going to rush into this completely blind.” 

“Thanks guys,” Adora says, once she’s finished a long greedy sip from her mug. “You’re really all the best. I’m sorry I didn’t just talk to you about it.” Glimmer narrows her eyes; Adora is agreeing to it all _just_ a little bit too readily, which means she’s trying to wrap up the conversation and avoid accountability for something else. 

“Catra mentioned there might be more than just the schedule you wanted to talk about,” Glimmer says casually. Adora shoots Catra a look.

“Traitor,” Adora grumbles, sinking deeper into her beanbag chair like she’s hoping it will absorb her and save her from this conversation. 

“Look, we don’t want to press if it’s something you really don’t want to talk about,” Bow says. Well, maybe he doesn’t - Glimmer is quite inclined to press, but she yields at least for the moment to his gentler instincts for interpersonal affairs. 

“It’s not something I’ve ever really talked about,” Adora murmurs into her mug, which Glimmer only now realizes is somehow _empty_ already. Guess she really liked the cocoa.

“Take your time,” Bow says, sipping at his own drink. Quiet blankets the room. Wordlessly, Catra moves the hand she has on Adora’s knee up to grasp at one of Adora’s hands and pry it away from its tight clutching of the empty mug. Adora glances gratefully at Catra, and then takes a deep breath. 

“It’s been happening since I was a teenager,” she starts. 

  
  


**Entrapta**

Hordak has been ranting for a while now since Wrong Hordak slipped away and said something about taking his mug back up to the kitchen to make sure it gets washed. It seems like whenever Wrong Hordak isn’t in the room with them, Hordak wants to yell _about_ him instead of _at_ him. After several minutes of this, Entrapta decides Hordak could benefit from some of the insights about friendship that she’s gathered over the years. 

“You know,” she starts, still mostly focused on the readouts from the shielding upgrades, “if you want to be friends with someone, yelling at them is counterproductive, even if it makes you feel like you’re in control of how you’re expressing your emotions.” 

“I do not want to be _friends_ with him,” Hordak snarls. “And why do you keep saying that?” 

“Saying what?”

“That - that raising my voice is somehow linked to _expression_ and not simply a natural consequence of the _fools_ I am surrounded by being unable to follow simple instructions?” 

“Well, from the performance of emotions I observed from Horde Prime, he didn’t do a lot of yelling, at least not until the end. And Wrong Hordak told us that it was forbidden for clones to express their own personal emotions. So it only seems to make sense to me that if you were still trying to be loyal to that principle, but you had a lot of very strong feelings inside of you, you might avoid expressions that you thought of as belonging to Prime, and tend more towards any expression that he didn’t do often, because it felt less like breaking that rule.” She stops there, even though she’s collected quite a bit of interesting data points on Prime and Hordak and Wrong Hordak and the other clones in regards to the apparent moratorium on overt emoting - although alien sociology is fascinating, she’s noticed the beginnings of a pattern in her shielding readouts and is infinitely more excited by those. 

“You suggest that I have deliberately shaped myself to avoid being like Horde Prime, even when I believed I was serving his will and felt myself to be faithful to him?” 

“Hm?” She has to jerk her thoughts back from the shielding to the conversation about Hordak’s difficulty with expressing positive feelings. “No, that isn’t exactly what I mean. If anything, it’s pretty obvious that either consciously or subconsciously you were attempting to mimic him and his style of leadership, even though it was catastrophically unsuited to managing an army of Etherians instead of a population of clones.”

“Well, it was only natural that I look to the methodologies of the most successful conqueror the universe has ever known for guidance on how to subdue your miserable planet.” 

“Well that was obviously a fundamental error in your initial approach. Your hypothesis itself was flawed, but even disregarding that, your methods were just lifted wholesale from a different context and applied to Etheria without much thought about having to adjust them to suit the different environment.” 

“There is no _need_ for you to remind me that I am a failure,” Hordak growls sullenly. “It is all well and good to mock my efforts in hindsight, but I started from nothing but the technology of my own crashed ship and the fuel of my own determination to be redeemed!”

“I’m not mocking you,” Entrapta says, making brief eye contact with him across the room because she knows this is the thing she is supposed to do when being sincere. She turns her attention back to the readouts when she feels the eye contact has lasted a sufficient length of time. “I was there at the very moment Wrong Hordak lost his connection to the hivemind, I saw how distraught and confused he was. You’ve made it pretty clear that you’re unhappy about being compared to the other clones. I can only speak for myself, but I think the difference between how you were severed from Prime and how the rest of the clones experienced it is both statistically significant and obvious to any observer. Wrong Hordak had me and Bow with him right from the very start, and the others were all disconnected at the same time and had each other for support. You didn’t have anything like that. When they were disconnected from Prime, they were all terrified of being alone - you were the only one who actually _was_ alone.” Hordak says nothing for a while, and that allows Entrapta to return to studying the pattern. She really ought to get a report on the varying radiation of the passing stars and overlay it to see if the pattern is consistent with the fluctuations she’s seeing in the shielding. That seems like the simplest explanation, so probably the one she should start with. As the sensor data she pulls up starts to compile, she hears the noise of Hordak dropping whatever he was working on. 

“Was it naive of me to have believed all this time that Prime truly loved me as his brother? That his choices were driven by compassion and thoughtfulness? He said so often that lesser lifeforms had to prove their worthiness of those good graces, to prove they could align themselves with order instead of with chaos, by being unblinkingly loyal to him. That was the greatest proof that you were worthy, your loyalty. If I had faltered, if I had questioned what he taught us about the inhabitants of other planets, I would have been proving that I was unworthy of his love. There was - there was no pathway that would have taken me away from his teachings that would not point directly into the darkness of chaos, the admission of my own inherent inferiority.” 

“Well, I mean, I don’t know about all that,” Entrapta says honestly, carefully aligning the ambient radiation graph over top the shielding stress analytics and admiring the elegant and almost romantic way the two twine together in near-perfect synchronization, “but I can’t imagine Wrong Hordak would have strayed far from his original indoctrination without outside forces providing him with new evidence and exposure to different belief systems at the same time that he was receiving support and kindness that didn’t come from Prime.” 

“But surely - “ Hordak starts to say, and then is cut off by a comm screen opening up on Entrapta’s analytics interface, blotting out her beautiful graphs with Wrong Hordak’s alarmed expression in triple size. 

“My apologies for interrupting, Brother Entrapta. There has been a slight issue with the dish-cleaning robot, and I was hoping you might help me to fix it before the others notice I have made a mess in the kitchen.” 

“Bad Sudsy!” Entrapta scolds through the comm link, reaching for a handful of tools as she rises from her seat. “I’m on my way!” She pulls herself into a ventilation shaft that will take her to the kitchen, already putting the conversation with Hordak out of her mind. If he wants to make amends, he won’t do it by rehashing the decisions he made decades ago. Hopefully he’ll come to that conclusion on his own without too much pushing. 

  
  


**Hordak**

He retreats to his room after the conclusion of the evening meal, disliking the thought of spending a moment longer in the engine room with the False Hordak or, worse, being alone with Entrapta and having to endure more of her intrusive commentary about _feelings_ and _friendship._ He knew this trip would be unpleasant, but he’d at least thought that Entrapta would be a refuge of good sense and good company. It makes him feel - _feel angry_ \- when he thinks about the False Hordak being torn from Prime and simply having Entrapta there from the very beginning. The rage pulses in his chest, hot and vulgar. He wants to bellow to relieve some of the tension, maybe throw something across the room, but now he’s even second-guessing the meaning of that simple relief. Yelling to express strong emotions, simply because he feels it’s more acceptable than the alternatives? Could she be right? 

No, _no,_ he refuses to be made to question his own behaviour, refuses to have someone who could not possibly understand him try to analyze his private thoughts. The indignity of it makes him - makes him want to _yell, dammit,_ and that only stokes the broiler inside of him. Well, and what other options does he have? How else is one supposed to relieve the building tremors of overwhelming emotions? 

Tremors. He is shaking again. Suddenly he realizes just how weak his legs are under him, and takes to his bunk. He falls into it with a sigh of relief. At least here in the privacy of this pitiful cell he can admit to this weakness. A deep breath calms him, but it is not only the action that brings relief - the air itself is calming, comforting. Entrapta. He has this to thank her for, as well; her ingenious ventilation and oxygen distribution system, made modular and adaptable purely for his benefit. 

No, not entirely true. The smile that has begun to creep up his face falls again. For his benefit, and also for the False Hordak’s benefit. Both of their private rooms are set to lowered oxygen content, cleverly utilizing the force field technology he and Prime both employed for doorways and jail cells as an almost intangible curtain between the room and the hallway to prevent flooding the room back with the air of the main ship whenever they open the door. He never would have thought to use it that way. For a moment, his admiration for Entrapta’s intelligence and innovation files away at the sharpest corners of his rage. She has done a great many things in the last several weeks for his benefit. He ought to be… appreciative. 

Feeling exhausted, he allows his eyes to flicker closed, taking more long, deep breaths of the specially balanced air of his room. He manages to drift off, only to have another damnable dream about Prime returning and taking over his body, punishing him for his failure, wiping his memories anew, laughing at his idiocy - 

The knock on his door wakes him from the vision of himself trapped in a metal box that is slowly filling with fluid and crackling electricity.

“Hordak!” Calls Entrapta. “Come join us!” He casts a glance at the stage of lighting in his room; it’s still evening. He must have only gotten an hour or so of sleep. He rises from his bed, trying to slow the gallop of his hearts, smoothing back his hair. He opens the door, and Entrapta is smiling at him from behind the pale green energy field keeping the noxious abundance of oxygen on her side of the barrier. “We’re playing a board game that has teams of two and I want you on my team, are you coming?”

“I still do not understand what a board game is,” he mutters, but doesn’t resist when Entrapta reaches through the energy field with her hair to collect him and drag him out into the hallway.

“It’s a theoretical simulation for the purpose of entertainment!” She pushes him down the corridor so fast he barely has time to slap the palm scanner and close his bedroom door behind them. “Plus they made tea. I didn’t know what kind you like so I went with wintermint, since that’s my favourite. Catra seems pretty determined to win but she’s also never played a board game before, so I think we’ve got a pretty good chance of beating her and Melog.”

“The simulation has a victor?” Suddenly this idea seems less of a waste of time. If he _must_ spend time with that vile traitor Catra, he can at least do it in a setting where he is allowed to defeat her soundly, to overcome her and leave her in a state of disgrace in front of her new friends. And with Entrapta on his side? Catra’s loss is inevitable. “Very well. Together, there is nothing we cannot conquer.”

“That’s the spirit! We’re playing as the pink team!”


	21. Revelations

**Adora**

They settle on a schedule, and the days pass in surprising comfort. With Catra on hand to keep her accountable (and provide very good incentive for going to bed on time), Adora finds she’s able to avoid her old habit of overworking herself to deal with her anxieties about the uncertain future. A week passes and she finds she’s settled into a sort of harmony. It could almost be peaceful, if the reason for their journey weren’t always there in the back of her mind. 

The early mornings are gentle. Catra stubbornly keeps her in bed until the daytime lights are almost on, and Adora learns to use this time to think about the day ahead of her, or to read another chapter of the Mermystery series that Mermista insisted on loaning her, or to simply lie awake rubbing Catra’s ears and soaking pleasantly in the thrum of her idle purr. 

Breakfast is a patchwork of people wandering in and out of the multiroom on their own schedules, fending for themselves for the first meal of the day. Catra usually comes with her, and often insists on getting Adora’s breakfast for her - on these days, Adora ‘helps’ by wrapping her arms around Catra and pressing against her from behind while she fixes the food. Catra pretends to complain the entire time, but grabs Adora’s arms and puts them back into position any time Adora tries to pull away. Adora would be happy with just a bowl of porridge every morning, but Catra is teaching herself to fry things in the skillet and has been putting their ample stock of fresh foods from Alwyn to good use. Occasionally Bow will stick his head into the little kitchen and give Catra’s cooking a compliment, and then offer a suggestion or an idea. To Adora’s surprise, Catra has started thanking him instead of telling him to buzz off. 

Between lunch and breakfast, Adora heads to the brig and spends some quality time with the punching bag. Catra comes along and watches, providing commentary and feedback and occasionally sparring with Adora, but insists that she’s never been much one for the grind of structured training, which is true. Sometimes she brings the mat that Perfuma gave her and unrolls it on the cold metal floor of the brig - Adora’s never seen her use it for any sort of breathing exercises, though. She usually just sprawls out on it and takes naps. 

Sometime approaching afternoon, Glimmer will finally be awake enough to appear. Hauling her textbooks and her bag of practice sand, usually yawning despite how far they are into the day, Glimmer will set up in a corner of the room and begin her daily studies. Catra usually slips away at that point - she mentions to Adora in passing that the smell of the textbooks reminds her too much of Shadow Weaver - and Adora uses Glimmer’s appearance as her cue to switch tracks. Abandoning the punching bag, she takes on the form of She-Ra and goes through a number of sword forms, then practices her own magic as much as she’s able to without putting Darla’s hull integrity at risk. She’s been getting pretty good at summoning her healing aura.

Wrong Hordak, with a few lessons and some simple recipes he can easily follow, has taken to making lunch every day. Adora is always ravenous by the time he comes around, poking his head into the brig and announcing that food is ready. So far he’s only burned lunch once and undercooked it once, so he’s doing pretty well - likely better than Adora would be doing, anyways, so she’s not about to complain. Lunches have settled into a pretty standard routine - Entrapta, freshly awake and having lunch as her first meal of the day, will excitedly update Bow on the previous night’s developments in the engine room or findings of the long-range scanners. Wrong Hordak will tell them his latest idea for a name for himself, and they go around the table giving it a rating out of ten at his insistence. Adora has been giving every single one of his suggestions a ten out of ten so far - it feels wrong to to discourage his self-expression, even when he comes up with a six syllable mega-name comprised of all their names mashed together, or when he goes poring through Darla’s records of historical weaponry and suggests Trebuchet as a name, pronouncing it tray-BUCK-it to the great mystification of everybody at the table. Catra and Glimmer tease each other, Adora eats her entire plate and any leftovers that are offered to her, Bow proposes the evening’s group social activity - they still have four more board games to try, thanks to Scorpia - and Hordak sulks quietly at the end of the table. 

After lunch, they clear out their dishes and review any new data Entrapta’s gathered that might be relevant to Prime and his preparations. The Hordaks each provide any updates on information they can think of that could be related to the data backups, which so far has been basically none. Catra doesn’t let the afternoon meetings run one second longer than they absolutely have to, so they don’t drag on like some of the old war room meetings used to. 

Late afternoons are the start of mandatory individual free time, which Adora was sure would drive her crazy. Catra has forbidden her from using the free period for more time on the punching bag, but will tolerate a maximum of thirty minutes of afternoon bodyweight exercises as long as Adora does them in the bedroom with her with the door open so the squad can all chat around her while she huffs and puffs. Sometimes Catra makes it extra difficult for her by sprawling on her back while she’s doing planks or push-ups, which often ends in wrestling - which then sometimes ends in kissing. Glimmer has yelled at them to close their door if they’re gonna fuck (her words, not Adora’s) three times so far this week, and each time all it has managed to do is turn the makeout into a mutual giggle fit. 

Once Catra has signalled Adora’s hit her limit for permissible afternoon fitness, they dig out their gifts from Spinnerella and Netossa and sit on the floor of their bedroom side by side, working on their projects. Catra says she likes the scent of the leather as Adora works with it and warms it with her hands; Adora is personally fond of the crisp, clean smell that comes off of Catra’s slowly growing pile of wood shavings. At some point Bow and Glimmer will move to the kitchen to start making dinner, and with the bedroom door open the savory aromas of cooking food will start to drift through the ship. Adora finds herself thinking about Netossa’s dad and what he said about the value of keeping his hands busy making something; with the warmth of Catra’s leg against hers, and the low-stakes challenge of making a leather bracelet in front of her, Adora is usually able to shut her mind off for a little while, and just exist in the moment. 

At the end of their first week, this is where she finds herself when Catra holds up her rough little carving of a curled-up feline - meant to be Melog, no doubt - and says:

“I think I finally understand what Perfuma was talking about.” 

“Hm?” Adora prompts, fiddling with trying to weave the leather according to the directions in her booklet. 

“Back when we left, she was telling me about like, breathing exercises to do on the mat, or something, and she said this thing about the value of being with yourself. I didn’t really get what she meant at the time, but this… feels sort of like that. Like maybe that’s what she means.” When Adora doesn’t respond right away - because she’s not sure _how_ to respond - Catra gets bashful. “Anyways, it’s dumb, forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Adora jumps in, forgetting about the bracelet and giving Catra her full attention. “It’s not dumb. I was just wrapping my head around it, that’s all. ‘Being with yourself’. Huh. I think I know what you mean, it’s sort of like - sort of like a trance, but in a good way and not in a panicky, floating-outside-your-body way?”

“Yeah,” Catra says, with a little smile, “kinda like that. Where you just sort of think about things and feel things but in like a really… easy, mellow way, and you don’t stay stuck on any one thing for long.” 

“Yeah,” Adora breathes, reaching out and brushing her fingertips across Catra’s knee. “It’s nice.” She hasn’t had an attack since the one the first day they left. “Thank you,” she says, turning her head to face Catra, who does the same. She leans in to press a soft, grateful kiss to her lips. Maybe this is it - maybe this is what peace and rest is supposed to feel like. 

“What for?” Catra asks when she pulls away, smiling but confused. 

“For not letting me fall back into my old habits. For making me ask for help. For being too cute every morning to start my day right away.” This last bit makes Catra blush, which is exactly Adora’s intention. 

“I’m not cute,” Catra says, flicking an ear, “I’m a badass.” 

“An adorable badass.” 

“Hey lovebirds,” Bow croons through their open door, “Dinner’s ready.” Adora sneaks one more kiss and then packs up her hobby kit, stomach already loudly anticipating whatever wonderful thing is cooking down the hall. Tonight when their hands brush under the table, Catra twines their fingers together instead of pulling away, and Adora eats her meal one-handed in a state of bliss. Tonight’s fare is some sort of wonderful pastry thing stuffed with seasoned vegetables and drowning in a delicious creamy sauce, and Catra laughs when Adora gets a bunch of sauce on her chin after taking too big of a forkful. When Catra swipes the sauce from her chin with a thumb and winks at her in front of everybody, Adora thinks this might actually be the most perfect day she’s ever had.

Somehow, miraculously, nothing happens to ruin it. Glimmer tells a joke and even _Hordak_ laughs at it. Entrapta regales them all with a story about a robot butler of hers that somehow decided its prime function was to put random objects into those little silver meal platter things and then deliver them back and forth across Dryl, turning every mealtime into an impossible shell game. Bow decides that since tomorrow is their first formal full day of rest, he’s going to make hot cocoa for everyone with the option of added vanilla liqueur. Catra says yes to this immediately, and so Adora does too. Entrapta passes but Wrong Hordak, after an explanation of the purpose of consuming alcohol, announces he would like to give it a try. That of course results in Hordak declaring that he won’t be bested by a mere imitation and demanding the same. Glimmer only giggles and says _me too_ into the cacophony, and Bow sings to himself in the kitchen while he mixes them their drinks. 

Instead of board games, they sit and talk long after dinner is done, sipping their spiked cocoa and allowing its warmth and looseness to suffuse their bodies and their conversation. As the night goes on, Catra creeps closer and closer to Adora, until finally Catra is in her lap. Nobody comments or even looks twice, but Adora can feel Catra’s nervous about it, tense and shy about this public display even though she’s sat on Adora in front of these people before. Slowly Catra relaxes against Adora, as the chatting continues and there is no retaliation for her daring to show this open affection. Funny to think they’d once thought of this as weakness, depending on wrestling and pushing to get their fix of touching each other. 

“Oh, Bow!” Glimmer exclaims at some point, “You should get your violin and show off what you’ve been working on!” 

“You do this every time we drink,” Bow half-protests, flushing with the attention. 

“Because there’s nothing better than beautiful music when I’m buzzed,” Glimmer declares happily. 

“C’mon Bow, play us a song,” Adora chimes in, smiling over the top of Catra’s head. She’s feeling so good and snug and floaty right now. 

“Yeah Bow,” Catra echoes, probably just for the sport of making him blush more, “play us a song!” 

“What is a violin? Is that another type of board game?” Wrong Hordak asks, his cheeks ruddy from the liqueur and his voice suggesting he’s attempting to whisper but has forgotten how. 

“It’s a musical instrument,” Glimmer tells him, beaming. “You must have heard of music before. There was music on Etheria before we left.” Bow takes this opportunity to zip down the hall to his room and retrieve the violin when they’re explaining it to Wrong Hordak.

“It is similar to art, is it not? The auditory equivalent? The creation of something purely for the enjoyment of something skillfully made and pleasing to behold. It still makes me - quite _emotional_ \- “ he’s tearing up as he says this - “to think that my brothers were making their own art for themselves, when we left. These are things that have always been forbidden luxuries, for us - something only Horde Prime had any right to experience.” 

“Horde Prime and his chosen few,” Hordak corrects, also very red in the face. “Of which I was one, once. I had heard music, before I came to Etheria. Before I was banished to the front lines for daring to be physically defective.” Adora’s eyebrows go up. She’s learned during their briefings and planning sessions that Hordak was once a trusted general at Horde Prime’s side, something higher than the basic grunt role. But this is the first she’s heard about him being sent to the front lines for a ‘defect’. She’d gotten the impression that Hordak had gone right from being a high-ranking follower to somehow ending up in the portal that stranded him on Etheria. 

“What was the music like, brother?” Wrong Hordak asks gently, and Adora cringes, waiting for the inevitable explosion from Hordak at the slip. They’ve all learned that he hates it when Wrong Hordak calls him brother. Surprisingly, it doesn’t come. Hordak is staring off into space - literally into space, through the window above them - and is clearly lost in the memory. 

“It was strange. I had of course never heard anything like it before. Prime told me that it was… divine, I believe he called it. And then he laughed at me, and told me I would never be able to comprehend it, that the gift of this experience was wasted on me.” Hordak swallows heavily, wipes an aggressive hand across his face, and then stares down at his mug with sudden accusation. Entrapta delicately puts a hand on his shoulder; he glares at it and brushes it away. Adora feels her heart harden with sudden ferocity. Ah, right. _He’s_ the reason that she and Catra grew up afraid to touch each other in a way that could be conceived of as affectionate or vulnerable. 

Bow returns to the multiroom with his violin case and thankfully brings the evening back on track with his shy smile as he draws out the instrument and sets it to his chin. 

“Yay Bow!” Adora cheers, definitely feeling the alcohol now. It’s awfully tempting with Catra in her lap to nuzzle her face against her, but she resists the urge, wanting to give her full attention to Bow. The room falls quiet as he starts to play; the first note seems to make that already cozy warmth inside of Adora’s chest bloom outwards, making her skin tingle like she’s near a source of potent magic. Catra’s ears press forward, like she’s trying to take in as much of the sound as possible. Bow’s eyes fall closed and his fingers fly along the neck of the instrument, coaxing first a throaty, mournful set of notes into the air, then a high, thrilling peal. The melody rolls lower again, like a mountain stream yielding peacefully to gravity, settling into a tune that resonates powerfully somewhere below Adora’s sternum. Back and forth his arms and fingers glide in an elegant duet of their own, working together like a pair of dancers to draw this rich sound from such a small, delicate-looking object. 

Adora can’t help but think about how Wrong Hordak described music: An act of creation purely for the enjoyment of something skillfully made and pleasing to behold. She wonders how many hours of practice Bow had to put into this skill, to make it sound so good, to play something that has the power to pierce her heart and make her feel like she’s on fire. She considers the violin itself, marvels at its construction, at its function, and wonders how many hours it took the person who made it. So much effort and dedication, all for an end result that isn’t productive, isn’t useful. It’s… glorious. 

It makes her feel awe, even though this is hardly the first time she’s seen Bow play it before. There’s something special in the way he’s playing tonight… but maybe that’s just the alcohol talking. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that for the first time in her life, Adora allows herself to wonder if _she_ could do something like that, too. If she could master some kind of craft for no reason other than wanting to create something beautiful. 

Bow finishes, and they all clap. Catra twists around in her lap, eyes bright and mouth open as she’s about to say something about the performance, but then her smile falls and concern replaces joy. 

“Adora, are you crying?” Catra’s words set off the rest of the friend group like an emergency beacon. Bow rushes over, and Glimmer just about vaults the table. 

“Adora, are you okay?”

“What’s wrong??”

“I’m fine, guys, I’m fine,” Adora protests through her tears. “That was just - just really beautiful.” 

“You big sap,” Catra says, reaching up to wipe at Adora’s cheeks. “Stop, you’re gonna make _me_ cry, too.”

“You’re gonna make _me_ cry!” Bow adds, his lower lip trembling as he comes in for a hug. Adora laughs and wraps them both up in her arms, wiping her eyes indelicately on Bow’s shoulder. She looks up and across the table; Wrong Hordak and Entrapta are both smiling in appreciation of the music and looking a bit baffled by the waterworks. Hordak rises suddenly from the table and leaves the room without a word. Adora’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not, but it looked for a moment like there were tears in his eyes. Whatever she makes of _that,_ she doesn’t have much time to think about it before Glimmer’s added herself to the group hug and the four of them are just a hugging mess of totally-not-crying-you’re-crying tipsy weirdos in space. This seems to be the natural bookend for the evening, and when they pull apart and reassemble themselves, Entrapta stands and starts collecting up mugs to deposit into the dishwashing bot. Catra abdicates her throne on Adora’s lap, making her legs feel cold, and then tugs Adora to standing with her. 

“I think it’s bedtime,” Catra says, and Adora couldn’t agree more. 

  
  


**Hordak**

For all the genius of their construction, the doors on this ship have a major flaw: Hordak has no way to slam them shut in a rage. The bedroom door hisses gently closed behind him, and Hordak takes a deep, gulping breath of the specialized air. Instead of stabilizing him, this gasping inhale seems to make him fray more wildly; tears leak down his face, fury wells up inside of him like bile. 

“You lied to me!” He shouts at the walls, shaking violently as he crosses the room to the bed, picking up the mattress and hurling it with a scream. “You said they were barely sentient!” He swings a fist at a steel buttress, feels the singing of pain rocket up his arm. “You said I was unworthy! You were saying it all along!” He looks frantically for something else he can throw, something he can destroy, but unlike the Etherians and his idiot imitation, he brought no personal possessions, received no parting gifts. As the shaking racks his body, he collapses into the hard metal frame of the bed, grasping angrily at the port of the back of his neck, feeling like he’s going to vomit. 

“You told me I didn’t deserve music! You told me I didn’t deserve love!” He curls tighter in on himself, digging his trembling claws into the back of his own neck, circling the hard line of metal. “I believed you. I believed all of it, like a fool.” He watches droplets strike his knees and roll down his shins. “I had to believe you. I had to believe you, because if you were wrong, then that would mean - “ 

He forces his head between his knees, wishing the shaking would stop, wishing the spinning would stop, wishing the pain would stop. 

“Inferior lifeforms,” he growls, and then again, in a desperate pitch, _“inferior lifeforms!”_ He hadn’t had a choice. If he believed in Horde Prime, and trusted all that he said, every choice he made that ended an Etherian’s life was a mercy, a gift. Order. He was bringing order. He was following orders. He was obeying - obeying - 

He was obeying no commands. 

The memory is sharp and clear in his mind, pressing against his thoughts with a cutting edge. 

Prime smiles as the music fills his trophy room. 

“It is truly one of the great mysteries of the universe, that planets so uncultured and uncivilized and besotted with chaos can accidentally create things that are worthy of my attention. If only we could divorce the creation from the hapless creators, it would be a much purer form of art. But of course, it is impossible - try as I might, there always lingers something of the maker in whatever it is we see or hear. I do not expect you to be able to distinguish this, of course. That is why I cannot allow my beloved brothers to indulge in these creations; they lack the sophistication of thought to protect their minds from outside influence.”

He remembers so clearly the way it felt to have Horde Prime’s possessive grasp stroke condescendingly through his hair. At the time, it had been a pleasure, an honor. Now it makes him retch. 

“At times, you know, I have thought of myself as a collector - a preservationist. It seems to me an impulse so deeply compassionate, to seek and catalog the things of beauty accidentally produced by these riotous, pestilent species before I cleanse them from this universe.”

“Truly, my lord, you are the most selfless and benign of saviours,” Hordak says to the empty room, feeling the words twist and sicken in his mouth, his breath catching between them in dark sobs. Prime does not answer him. Nobody answers him. 

Nobody is here. Not even Hordak himself is here.

_Hordak._ A childish, fawning tribute of an identity. Hordak would sneer at this mess of a man, huddled on a naked bed frame, undone by a mouthful of intoxicants and one hundred and ninety six point three seconds of amateurish melody. 

The pain in his chest feels like it will never end. He must find someone to blame for this, and so he blames Horde Prime. _You lied_ , he screams, over and over, _you lied, you lied, you lied about it all!_

But his chest does not stop hurting.

Because he knew, deep down.

Something in him knew the truth about the unworthy who were being slaughtered. The moment he fell from grace, cast aside and branded himself as unworthy with no more than the briefest of disappointed frowns - he knew. What Horde Prime demanded was not possible. No being could meet his standards. 

But the lies had to be believed. 

It was the only path back to redemption. He could not return to Horde Prime’s side if he rejected even a fragment of what he claimed to be the ultimate truth of the universe. 

Mercy had not been his to give. Pity had not been his to feel. 

He had felt the shape of the hook in his mouth, and swallowed it regardless in a desperate gambit to make the lure into something real. 

He has nobody to blame but himself.


	22. Stretch

**Adora**

“You know,” Adora says into the quiet air of their bedroom, trying to sound casual, “you’ve been awfully assertive this past week.” It’s the afternoon, and Catra’s been reading a book while Adora’s been halfheartedly attempting to do the same thing while her mind circles back to this one thought. 

“Well I have to be, to keep you from converting this ship into a nonstop space training camp,” Catra answers smugly, draping an arm over the edge of the bed to brush the pads of her fingers against Adora’s collarbone. She’s more open now about expressing affection in front of the others, but she’s still always the most physically demonstrative at times like this when Bow and Glimmer have vanished to go make dinner and they have a few moments to themselves. Adora’s facing away from the bed, sitting on the floor with her shoulders propped up against the frame with a pillow to soften its harsh edge. She’ll never admit it - okay, maybe she’ll admit it eventually - but Glimmer was completely right about those bean bag chairs. “Why, it’s not bothering you, is it? I can tone it down?” She can’t see Catra’s face fall, but Adora can hear it in her voice. 

“No, no! It’s - it’s nice.” She pivots quickly, catching Catra’s eyes and intercepting Catra’s suddenly retracting hand. 

“Yeah?” Catra says, uncertainty tinging the word. Adora thinks about the conversation she wants to broach, and then her gaze flicks to the open bedroom door. 

“Do you mind if I…?” She gestures at the door, and that doesn’t seem to abate Catra’s nerves at all, but Catra nods and so she abandons her book and pillow to the floor and rises to touch the palm scanner and give them a little more privacy. That accomplished, she crawls into the bed with Catra and tangles their fingers together, sitting just a little ways away. 

“You’re sort of making me think it’s not okay,” Catra confesses, folding the corner of her page and putting her own book down. 

“Sorry, I just - “ Adora feels heat coming to her face, “It’s just sort of embarrassing to talk about, I don’t want anybody to overhear.” That seems to take the edge off of Catra’s fear. “It really _has_ been nice.” She brushes her thumb along Catra’s knuckles, trying to remember how she’d been planning on phrasing this. “It makes it easier to be okay with not always doing things. Like, I can’t be mad at myself for ending my training before I’m totally exhausted if I’m not the one in charge of making that call.” 

“Trust _you_ to be the only person in the world who can’t relax unless it’s a direct order,” Catra teases, sounding a little more like herself. Adora smiles at the jab, although she can’t quite laugh. 

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Adora says, hoping Catra can hear it for the honest truth that it is. “I feel a little guilty that you’re, I dunno, being put in the role of playing my supervisor just to make me less annoying to be around.” Her voice drops to a mumble as she gets to the crux of her concerns. 

“Adora,” Catra says firmly, taking her by the chin abruptly and forcing her to look Catra in the eyes, “You are _not_ annoying. And nobody is making me - “ she stumbles, like she’s not sure what words to use for what it is that she’s been doing. “Look, y’know, I’m only just figuring out all this stuff about… how things are for people outside of the Horde, how people who aren’t super messed up deal with stress and anger, and - “ she backtracks, rubbing her one hand over her face without stealing the other back from Adora’s nervous touch. “It’s not a problem, you know? You’re helping me, and I’m helping you, and the Sparkle Arrow Duo are there to model whatever it is we’re not getting on our own.” 

“Not that they’re perfect,” Adora interjects, with a wry little grin that she hopes will reassure Catra of - of something she can’t put her finger on. She doesn’t want Catra to ever think that she’s trying to mold them into different people, that she doesn’t love Catra for who she is and who she was and the connection they have as they are, even if they’re both trying to learn to be better-adjusted people, people capable of asking for what they want and allowing themselves to be happy. 

“Oh, _definitely_ not,” Catra confirms, her little lopsided smile making Adora’s chest flutter warmly. “Anyways, I guess, what I’m trying to say is, you seem… happy, and that’s all the motivation I need.” Catra leans towards her and Adora is quick to tilt her head in and meet her in the middle for a soft kiss. When Catra pulls away, she touches Adora’s cheek lightly, and then says: “It’s really okay? I can be less pushy about things if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Yeah,” Adora says, feeling her cheeks heating up again as she pushes herself to add, “I actually - kind of like it.” Catra raises an eyebrow, a _distinctly_ smug expression taking over her face, silently goading Adora to continue. “I mean, aside from, you know, how nice it is to not think about things or be in charge of things for once. After Angella - “ she falters briefly. They’ve avoided talking about the portal incident in too much depth, and now isn’t quite when she wants to have _that_ conversation. “After Glimmer became queen, I basically took over as the tactical leader of the Rebellion. Suddenly everybody wanted my opinion, wanted my direction, wanted my orders. It wasn’t like being in charge of a squad. It was - “ she stops, realizes just who she’s talking to. “Well, I mean. You would know.” Catra huffs a bitter little exhale, her smile taking on a sad tilt. 

“I don’t know if it was exactly the same. Nobody wanted me giving them orders. Nobody cared about my opinion or trusted my judgement, they just did what I said because they didn’t have a choice.” She must see something in Adora’s face that gives away the surge of sympathy and heartbreak she feels on Catra’s behalf, because she stops herself and looks away. “I get what you mean, though, about the weight of the responsibility. The fact that every plan you make isn’t just theoretical, it actually has real lives on the line.”

“Yeah,” Adora says, withdrawing her hand from Catra’s so she can snag her pillow off the floor and then reposition on the bed, sitting with her back against the wall. It only takes a gentle tug on Catra’s shirt to get her to curl up in the space between Adora’s legs, head resting on her chest. Yes, this is definitely a more comfortable way to talk about something so emotionally fraught. She puts a hand on Catra’s head, rubbing idly below one of her ears, and allows herself to continue. “I spent a lot of time wishing somebody else had been in charge, to be honest. It would have made things easier. Would have given me more space to process everything I was feeling about being She-Ra, about _losing_ She-Ra, about being a First One, being lied to by Hordak, and Light Hope, and… I mean, I just didn’t have the luxury of dealing with the problems that were just about me.” 

“I always pictured you being so smug and vindicated,” Catra says softly, touching gently at Adora’s side, “to have walked into the Whispering Woods and just been handed leadership and respect and power, like it was something the world just _owed_ you, no matter which side you were on.” Her voice is contemplative, not resentful. “I could never really believe it though. Even if it was easier to tell myself you’d switched sides for the sake of power and praise, I knew you too damn well. You never looked happy.”

“Neither did you,” Adora whispers, tracing a path with her fingertips over and over through Catra’s hair. “I didn’t _hate_ it, exactly. It’s… pretty wildly flattering, to have so many people trust you like that. But I never really felt like I had earned it. It felt like someone had tossed me a blaster with the safety turned off and yelled at me to start shooting. It scared me. It still kind of scares me.” 

“Why didn’t you just let Sparkles be in charge, after Angella… was gone?” Catra’s ears express her guilt more than her voice does, pressing down towards her skull as she gives voice to the queen’s name. 

“This is gonna sound really bad,” Adora says, struggling with the shame of what she’s about to admit. She has to force herself to just spit it out. “I didn’t trust her.” 

“Some of which was probably my fault,” Catra murmurs softly, ears still down. “Which I guess you must have figured out eventually, since you caught Double Trouble in their whole Flutterina cover.”

“Well, that… didn’t help, no. But it wasn’t just them. Things were… hard, after Glimmer lost her mom. She latched onto Shadow Weaver as this like, weird evil replacement mom - “ Catra makes a barfing noise, which Adora couldn’t agree with more, “ - and then I just. I _couldn’t_ trust her.”

“I feel gross sticking up for Sparkles,” Catra says, nuzzling her face up under Adora’s chin, “but in her defense, she didn’t know Shadow Weaver the way we did. There was no way she could have understood exactly the sort of person she was dealing with.”

“No,” Adora agrees. “And that was part of why I couldn’t put my complete trust in her.” She pauses, sighs. “Does that make me a bad friend?” Catra snorts against her chest. 

“No, that makes you the smart one, for once. Of course you felt like you had to be in charge, when the only other high ranking person on your team was taking advice from _Shadow Weaver._ I sure wouldn’t have handed control over to Glimmer in your place.” It makes Adora feel better, hearing Catra put it that way. It also just feels good in general to have Catra warm against her chest and between her legs, feels good to be petting her hair. 

“Anyways, I guess that was like… a really long-winded way of saying it’s actually really nice to be able to let go of control for once. It really means a lot to me that you’re looking out for me and… it feels good to leave some of the big-picture thinking to you.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call stopping you from doing more than fifty pushups a day ‘big-picture thinking’.” Catra laughs, and squirms around to bring her face up to Adora’s and place an affectionate kiss to her lips. Adora smiles into the kiss and takes a deep soothing inhale of Catra’s scent. 

“It feels big-picture to me, with Horde Prime waiting for us somewhere at the end of this journey,” she says earnestly, when their mouths have parted. “I still get worried I’m not training hard enough, not really properly preparing myself, whenever I let myself think about it. But it’s a lot easier to not think about it when I remember you put yourself in charge of handling those logistics. I trust you to know what you’re doing.” At these last words, Catra’s expression goes from a soft fondness to open shock. Are those - oh - those are tears. Catra’s crying. Adora sits bolt upright, pressing a hand to Catra’s cheek, wiping the drops away. “Oh no, oh shit, I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

“No, no,” Catra rasps, eyebrows furrowing in flustered consternation, putting her own hand on top of Adora’s in a calming gesture. “You’re good. I just - nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Adora frowns and keeps brushing away tears with her thumbs. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she whispers, intensely serious. “You’re like the smartest, most driven person I know. The Horde only started winning when they put _you_ in charge. How could they not recognize what a genius you are?” Catra laughs nervously, turning her face into Adora’s palm and smearing her own tears through the thin fur of her cheeks. 

“Laying it on a little thick there, Adora,” she says, sounding like her throat is tight from holding back her feelings. 

“I mean it!” The little wobbly attempt at a smile that appears on Catra’s face makes Adora want to personally maim every single person that ever made Catra believe she was less than brilliant. “I was so happy to have you back after we got you back from Prime, not just because I - you know - have kind of been madly in love with you for like my entire life - “ this part she blurts out in a rapid aside, face red, - “but also because I felt so much stronger with you on our side. I’ve always felt that way. Like if the two of us are working together, there’s nobody who can outsmart us, nobody who can take us down.” 

“You dork,” Catra says through her tears, smile bigger. She ducks her head against Adora’s shoulder, wiping her face on Adora’s shirt, and then sheepishly resurfaces. She looks… touched, maybe. Her ears aren’t flattened anymore, and there don’t seem to be any new tears threatening in her eyes. “You’re gonna give me an ego.” 

“Good,” Adora announces, swooping in to pepper Catra’s cheeks with kisses. It makes Catra giggle and writhe; her laughter is a chesty sound that seems to scrape loose against the wishes of her body. _I love you,_ is the answering call of Adora’s heart, so strong and loud that she feels like surely Catra must be able to hear it somehow. And maybe she does, because Catra wiggles her face away and then notices the way Adora is looking at her, freezes momentarily like she wasn't prepared for whatever is showing in Adora’s expression, and then captures Adora’s mouth with her own in an urgent series of kisses. Adora is happy to melt into Catra’s touch, settling her arms around Catra’s waist and kissing, and kissing, and kissing. It feels so good. It feels so right. The kisses change from heated and desperate to long and indulgent; they both know there isn’t time for much before Glimmer comes to collect them for dinner. No time for more, but they make out at a comfortable, luxurious kind of pace, just enjoying each other. 

“Dinner’s probably soon,” Adora breathes reluctantly, after a while. 

“Probably,” Catra agrees, and snuggles back into Adora’s chest - probably to make it easier to resist the temptation to keep kissing. “Hey, I had an idea.” 

“Yeah?” She strokes a hand down Catra’s back, looking down at her fondly. 

“Remember what you were saying a while ago about how you stopped getting me to help with stretching because you liked it too much and that made you feel guilty?” 

“Yeah. You still haven’t taken me up on my invitation to start doing that again,” Adora says, putting a little smirking innuendo into the statement. 

“Well…” Catra muses, running the tips of her claws down the top of Adora’s thigh, which makes Adora’s heart suddenly leap even though there’s a pair of pants between her and Catra’s touch, “...I was thinking, maybe we should try that.”

“Uh huh,” Adora says a little breathily, her mind starting to get foggy with desire. This is hardly any better than winding each other up with kissing right before they have to be in front of people. 

“And I was also thinking, maybe I should be… _bossy._ While we do it.” The suggestion sends a pulse of heat right between Adora’s legs as surely as if Catra had just reached down into her pants. 

“That sounds good,” she manages to say. “That sounds really good.” 

Adora feels like she doesn’t hear a single word that gets said over dinner. She eats with a mechanical fervor, feeling herself get flushed all over again every time Catra flashes her a knowing smirk. Catra seems to be having no problems whatsoever with chatting and joking and acting normal, but Adora can feel the tip of her tail grazing her lower back the entire meal. 

“Uh, I’m going to take a nap,” Adora declares, when her plate is empty, scurrying into the kitchen to feed her dishes to the cleaning robot. 

“Are you feeling sick?” Entrapta calls after her, more intrigued than concerned. 

“No, just uh - just sort of tired tonight.” 

“You don’t look tired. But your face does look pretty red. Do you have a fever?” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Glimmer drawls. Adora emerges from the kitchen and Glimmer is looking at her with an entirely too smug expression on her face, eyes half lidded. “I think we can trust Catra to look after her.” If she hadn’t already been blushing, she definitely is now. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about gonna go just have a nap okay bye thanks very much for dinner!” She shouts in a rapidfire declaration, marching her way doubletime out of the multiroom. Catra saunters wordlessly after her, not even trying to disguise her amusement. 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Catra teases, when they’re alone again and the bedroom door is safely shut. 

“They’re all gonna think we’re having sex,” Adora whines. It’s not like announcing to the room she was about to do some assisted stretching with Catra’s help would have been any better. 

“So what if we were? We’re allowed.” Catra is absolutely radiating smug confidence tonight, and it makes Adora’s stomach flutter. She was careful to eat just a single plate of food, since she didn’t want to be overstuffed for this new and fun activity. Catra pushes her up against the closed door suddenly, and it feels like her entire body is on fire. “You ready?” She purrs, and Adora decides that yes, it was absolutely worth it to make a fool of herself in front of her friends just to be able to get to this moment faster. 

“Yeah,” she huffs, and then on an impulse adds, “Kiss first?” Catra smiles up at her and without a second wasted presses a warm, reassuring kiss to Adora’s lips. 

“Look at you,” Catra murmurs approvingly, “asking for what you want.” Another rush of heat pulses through Adora at her tone. “Ready to stretch?”

“Yeah,” Adora breathes, relishing the way the rush of air picks out the cool moisture on her lips left by Catra’s mouth. 

“Okay. Take off your shoes and your jacket.” Catra pulls away and wanders over to the storage cubbies at the end of the bed. Adora shrugs out of her jacket and pulls off her shoes, unable to take her eyes off of Catra as she retrieves and unrolls the meditation mat across their bedroom floor. It isn’t until Catra looks at her and flashes her an amused little smile that Adora realizes she’s standing in ‘at ease’ position, her body falling into the familiar posture of awaiting an order. Old habits die hard, she supposes. Catra crouches down beside the mat, makes deliberate eye contact, and then pats the mat twice, firmly, in invitation. Adora doesn’t know why, exactly, but this makes her core clench tight with a fresh spike of hot anticipation. She scrambles to obey. 

“How do you want me?” She asks, already too turned on to be embarrassed by how flustered her voice sounds to her own ears. 

“On your back,” Catra says, firm and commanding, and oh, it’s so nice to just _do_ and not _think._ She settles down with her back against the mat, trying not to let her breathing get too fast. Catra sits near her legs, and then her hands are curling around Adora’s thigh just above the knee, guiding the limb up. “Leg up,” she says, and Adora does as she’s told, lifting one leg in a raised hamstring stretch. Catra shifts into position, supporting Adora’s calf against her chest and shoulder, one hand on her knee and one on her foot. Catra pushes slowly until Adora’s leg reaches what feels like its limit. 

“Breathe,” Catra instructs, and so Adora does. “I’m gonna straighten your knee a little,” Catra warns, and then follows through on that threat; the muscles in Adora’s calf and shin join in the chorus, feeling the stretch now after Catra’s adjustment. “Breathe.” Adora takes a long, deep breath in, and a long breath out. “Good.” The single word of praise fills her with a warm tingling sensation; she’s tempted to close her eyes, but the sight of Catra manipulating her leg, expression focused, is just too enjoyable to look away from. “Now point your toe back towards yourself.” Adora does as told, and huffs a little gasp at the tightness in her calf this reveals. Catra’s hand swiftly positions against her foot so that it’ll stay angled that way even if she stops flexing her toes. 

“Good. You’re gonna take some deep breaths, and I’m gonna push the stretch on the exhale. Try to relax into it.” Adora nods. Despite the tightness of her leg and the edge of discomfort of the stretch, she feels like she’s already floating in endorphins and they’ve only just begun. How many times over the years did she fantasize about this exact thing? Agonize over the way it made her chest squeeze and her groin throb? Breathe in, breathe out, and there’s Catra, beautiful, incredible, untamable Catra, pushing the leg just a little closer to Adora’s torso, getting more stretch, asking more of her body. “Relax,” she says, “I’ve got you.” Adora wants to relax, wants to do anything Catra asks of her, but this is one thing she’s not totally sure how to accomplish. Even as blissfully good as this feels, she doesn’t know what wires she’s supposed to pull in her brain to deactivate the tension. That realization makes her feel a little less good. She wants to give Catra everything but she doesn’t know how to give her that, and it’s an unpleasant reminder that she’s broken, somehow, and doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fix it when everything her friends have tried has failed to work. 

“Hey,” Catra says, interrupting her thoughts, “talk to me.” Catra sits back on her heels, easing Adora’s leg out of the stretch. “You tensed up. You okay? Did I hurt you?” 

“I - no, no you didn’t hurt me, I just - I don’t know _how_ to relax. People keep telling me to, like it’s a thing I should just be able to turn off or on, but - “ Catra sets her leg back down on the mat and cuts off her babbling by pressing their foreheads together. 

“Hey. It’s okay. Come back out of your head. Just be in your body for a while, okay? Let me do the thinking.” Adora swallows heavily, overwhelmed by emotion. She tries to focus in on the fact that she trusts Catra, that she’s safe here. 

“Okay,” she says, still frowning a little. 

“I’ll stop telling you to relax.” She kisses the end of Adora’s nose, which makes Adora scrunch it up and grin reflexively. “There - “ Catra declares, soft as silk, “I like that.”

“Like what?” She feels adrift in all her tangled feelings, but sure in Catra’s hold on her. Like she’s floating on the surface of water with her eyes closed, but Catra’s arms are under her shoulders and guiding her gently so that she doesn’t bump into anything. 

“When you’re just yourself, and you’re not worrying about what the right thing to do or say is.” Her heart thumps loudly in her chest at this. She’d expected this bossy stretching to be enjoyable and, yes, intimate, but - she wasn’t expecting it to make her feel so vulnerable and raw. “You good to keep going?” 

“Yeah,” Adora says, hoping she’ll be able to let her mind go blank again. Catra pulls away and positions herself at Adora’s other leg, and to Adora’s relief the moment she feels the pleasantly almost-painful tug of the stretch, her thoughts go quiet. 

“There you go,” Catra murmurs, and the approving hum of her words loosen something inside of Adora’s chest. “Breathe in.” She takes a deep breath in, allowing her eyes to drift shut, trying to do what Catra said, just be in her body. “Breathe out.” Lips parted, she exhales, and as her lungs push the stale air out, Catra pushes her leg in. “Good,” Catra says, her voice low, thrillingly husky. Adora gives herself permission to just _enjoy_ it. “Breathe in.” She thinks about the way her rib cage expands as she brings new air in, thinks about the texture of the mat against her shifting shoulders, thinks about the comforting strength of Catra’s hand on her thigh, keeping her stable, guiding her progress. 

“Breathe out,” Catra says, and then, quiet but unmistakable, “Surrender to the stretch. Let it happen.” Then she’s pushing Adora’s leg in, and it’s tight and it’s on the edge of too much but her command floods through Adora’s body like sweet, strong liquor, and she doesn’t even think twice about obeying. _Surrender._ It’s okay. It’s safe. She can let go, because Catra is holding her, so she knows she won’t fall. Nothing exists in that moment but Catra and the sensation of the stretch, and there’s no point in trying to escape, no _need_ to escape, and so for once in her life Adora sinks into the release of giving in. It’s safe. She feels it from the tips of her fingers to the roots of her hair, like it’s a fundamental truth of the universe. It’s safe to surrender to Catra. Catra won’t hurt her, won’t allow her to be hurt. 

“That’s really good, Adora,” Catra says against her calf, and Adora doesn’t even try to stop the needy little whimper that the praise tugs from somewhere deep inside of her. She opens her eyes, and Catra is smiling down at her. “One more breath cycle. Deep breath in.” Adora holds that gaze as she follows instructions, marvelling in the tenderness there. “And last one, breathe out.” Adora starts the exhale, Catra pushes the stretch just a little more. “You’re doing great,” she says, the words a caress, and Adora softens a little more beneath them. Catra holds her in position firmly but gently, never breaking eye contact. She must be counting down in her head, although Adora’s too addled to try to count along and keep track of how long Catra holds her there. After a while she carefully eases Adora’s leg back to lying loosely on the mat. 

“How do you feel?”

“Mmmm. Good,” Adora manages to answer dreamily. 

“Good to keep going?”

“Yes please.” 

“Okay. Roll over onto your front for me.” Adora obeys, not sure where Catra wants her to put her arms and leaving them awkwardly at her sides. “Wrists above your head,” Catra says, answering the unspoken question. Adora’s already missing the comfort of Catra’s touch, craving the physical connection between them. “Lift up your hips. Good. Put this leg - “ Catra taps her left thigh, “out to the right.” Adora crosses the leg underneath of her body, pointing her left knee out to her right side. She can already feel the strain in her hips at the stretch of the pigeon pose. One of Catra’s hands hooks below her extended ankle, holding it in place, and then the warmth of Catra’s body is pressing up against her, wrapping around her back and bracketing her hips from behind. 

“Breathe in,” Catra murmurs, her mouth against the back of Adora’s neck. The breath she takes is shaky with arousal, and it makes Catra huff a single little smug laugh. "Breathe out." Adora forces the breath out slowly through her mouth, and Catra’s forearm comes across her upper back, pressing her shoulders flat against the ground, stopping them from lifting unevenly. Catra’s hips press with steady, slow insistence against her ass, deepening the stretch. Her hip flexor and her glutes sing their displeasure; she tries to focus on breathing through it. She hadn’t realized just how damn tight she is. “Okay?” Catra asks, but doesn’t yield her ruthless hold. 

“Mhm,” is Adora’s strangled confirmation. 

“Just breathe. We’ll keep it here for a bit. Deep breaths for me.” It makes her settle a little more comfortably into her sense of safety, knowing how attentive Catra is, how careful she’s being to not push Adora _too_ hard. It makes her feel… loved. “That’s better.” Catra whispers, and she must have somehow managed to unwind a little bit, because the burn doesn’t feel so intense. “I’m gonna push it a little more on the next exhale. Ready?” Adora gives a tiny nod, having a hard time with words. “Breathe in.” She inhales, and settles into the experience, the reassuring solidity of Catra’s arm pressing down against her shoulders, the pleasant weight of Catra’s body on hers. “And out.” Catra waits one heartbeat for Adora to start obeying, and then she gives that wonderfully potent command again: _“Surrender.”_ Adora can’t stop the noise her throat makes as she gives in to that demand, releasing control and allowing ownership of her body to slip from her grasp. She doesn’t think. She doesn’t even _do._ She just _feels._ “You’re so good for me,” Catra murmurs against her ear, and she knows she’s making noises again, but she can barely even hear herself, she’s so lost in the whole-body buzzing pleasure of the experience. There’s a loud _pop_ as something in her hip joint releases; she feels Catra’s chest jostling against her back as she tries not to giggle at the sound. “You okay?” she asks, not really sounding worried at all. 

“Yeah,” Adora groans, “that felt nice. Like I really needed it.”

“Obviously you did.” Catra places a kiss on the back of her neck. “Let’s switch to the other side. Come up nice and slow out of that one, okay?” She guides Adora’s hips back up with her body, and she does it so carefully Adora almost wants to cry with how special and cared about Catra’s making her feel right now. 

“You’re wonderful,” she blurts, as Catra is readjusting to do Adora’s other side. 

“Flatterer,” Catra responds automatically, her tone announcing the smirk on her face even if Adora’s face is still pressed to the mat. “Don’t think you can distract me.” Before Adora can protest that that wasn’t her intention, she feels Catra’s fingers teasing their way up her neck and then - her breath catches sharply as Catra gives her ponytail a light tug. Her head goes back automatically, chin lifting both out of the reflex to make the pain stop and the desire to give Catra anything she wants. She looks back at Catra, who seems a little caught off guard by the intensity of Adora’s reaction. Then her surprised expression slides smoothly into something distinctly more predatory and calculating. “You liked that, huh?” 

“Maybe,” Adora confesses, face hot. 

“Maybe,” Catra repeats back at her laughingly, letting the tips of her claws trickle down the skin of Adora’s neck. Heat and pressure and need throbs to life between Adora’s thighs. If she weren’t in such a state of stunned pleasure, she might make some sort of retort about Catra getting distracted after all, but with Catra’s body wrapped around hers, her voice thick with control, Adora isn’t terribly inclined to do anything but greedily take whatever Catra chooses to give her. “Honestly,” Catra murmurs against her neck, so close Adora can feel her fangs, “I didn’t expect this to turn you on so much.” Adora’s only answer is to swallow hard and hold herself as still as she can, consumed by the desire to do as she’s told, waiting on a knife’s edge to be given another order. It’s intoxicating in its purity, its simplicity, but terrifying in its potency. 

“Other side now,” Catra says, something in her voice pulling Adora back from that distant, floaty place just enough that she can switch legs, extending the right one underneath her body and out to the left. Having Catra resettle their bodies firmly together is like feeling the hum of She-Ra’s sword in her palm - a quiet promise that whatever is coming, she can handle it. “Ready? Breathe in. And… breathe out. That’s good.” Bit by bit, her stresses seem to wash away. All the fears hanging over her head go off somewhere on vacation, leaving her alone with only pleasure and comfort for company. Catra is her dance partner, leading Adora gracefully through the steps and never letting her stumble. When she dips, she doesn’t feel the fear of falling, only the rush of adrenaline. 

Her mind becomes a mush as Catra manipulates her body pose by pose, hands always strong and certain, voice even and assured. She stops keeping track of what kind of stretches they’re doing, which parts of her tightly-wound body they’re working the rigidity from. It’s all just a perfect blur of Catra, and being touched, and being cared for, and being safe. By the time Catra announces they’ve finished, Adora can only lie on the mat and look up at her with a glazed smile, breathing evenly and feeling like she’s riding on a cloud. 

“Come on,” Catra prompts, smiling back at her. “Get into bed.” It’s only because Catra’s telling her to that Adora can summon the energy to make her body work, shambling over to the bed and crawling in feeling muzzy and almost a little drunk. It kind of reminds her of coming back from being stung by Scorpia’s venom, except much, much more pleasant. Catra climbs in next to her and Adora turns over to wrap her up in an embrace, taking a deep breath with her nose pressed to the back of Catra’s neck, determined to never let her go. 

“I feel so good right now,” she mumbles. “I thought I’d be all wound up for sex after but I kinda just wanna cuddle.” The words spill out of her easily and comfortably, her barriers and insecurities about plainly stating her selfish desires wiped away by the giddy high she’s riding right now. 

“Let’s cuddle then, you big goober,” Catra says, turning her head to kiss the nearest part of Adora, which happens to be her bicep. “I’m proud of you,” she adds, as delicately as if she’s handling a sharp dagger by the blade. This makes Adora feel another big swell of emotion; for lack of the words to express it, she tightens her grip around Catra and places a kiss on the top of her shoulder. Somewhere below her belly, a steadily burning stack of coals is still generating heat, just waiting for some fuel so that it can roar back to an inferno. For now, Adora decides, cuddles. And maybe, if Catra’s in the mood later, she can suggest some more of her life-long fantasies for Catra to make come true.


	23. Transmission Received

**Bow**

He’s singing a little shanty and watering the potted tree that they’ve all taken to calling Captain when the transmission comes in. About half a second into trying to decide on what to rhyme with  _ Oh the Captain she is thirsty / So I sprinkle her with dew,  _ Darla’s user interface orb appears behind him, casting the bridge in a magenta glow.

“We are receiving an inbound transmission. The caller identified themself as - “ the audio changes from Darla’s artificial voice to a recording: “The Star Siblings!” Bow gasps with delight and scrambles over to the console.

“Darla, put me through on audio to the rest of the ship!”

“Broadcasting throughout the vessel. Please proceed.” 

“Guys!!” He can hear his own voice echoing back at him from down the hallway and through all the rooms. “We’ve got an incoming message from the Star Siblings! Everybody get to the bridge!” He touches the UI to end his broadcast, and then says, “Okay Darla, accept the incoming call.” 

The screen that opens up shows three smiling, exhausted looking faces. The younger sister beams victoriously.

“See!” Starla crows, pointing towards the camera, “I told you it was them! Hi Bow!”

“Hey Starla,” he grins. “What, did you think it was someone else faking our ship’s callsign?” 

“We weren’t sure,” Jewelstar says, leaning back in his chair and smiling a little more placidly than his sisters. “Your ship’s readings are a bit different from the last time we met.”

“That’s because I’ve made several changes and upgrades to the transmission technology since you last took readings,” Entrapta declares excitedly, bursting out of a vent and landing beside Bow with tremendous vigor. “What do you think?? Aren’t her signal patterns so  _ beautiful _ now?” Tallstar gives an indulgent laugh. 

“They’re nice. I’m impressed - you were working with some seriously old tech, with that ship.”

“Old but good,” Entrapta says affectionately, brushing a palm across the console. 

“It really is you!” Adora calls from the doorway, charging in excitedly and jostling Bow in her eagerness to get in range of the video call. “I can’t tell you guys how happy I am to see you!” 

“I’m just impressed you’re still alive,” Tallstar rebuts, smirking a little. “It’s good to see you, Adora. Do you guys have the whole crew with you? Where’s Glimmer?” 

“I’m here!” Glimmer announces, squeezing in on Bow’s other side. “It’s so good to see you. How are you all??” 

“We’re good,” Jewelstar answers, looking quietly amused by all the enthusiasm. “It looks like you guys are too? We picked up your signal asking for anybody on the side of the Rebellion to get in touch if they had information about Horde Prime’s ongoing activities across the galaxy.”

“And we debated for like three hours if it was a trap,” Tallstar chastises. “Some random ship that mostly looks like Adora’s, blaring a signal openly asking for intel any time it comes into range of another ship or planet. You guys have spooked a ton of other Rebellion fighters who thought for sure you were a Horde loyalist trying to lure them into showing themselves. Not exactly the most subtle approach.” 

“Oh,” Adora says sheepishly, scratching the back of her head. “I guess we didn’t really think about that, huh. So, wait, how have things been out in the rest of the universe? We’ve sort of been focused on our own problems.” 

“It’s chaos. Clones breaking down in tears and dropping their weapons all of the sudden, in the middle of battles even - bots going dark like someone cut their transmissions. Nobody’s spotted the Velvet Glove in  _ weeks.  _ People are saying you killed Prime!” Starla bursts in, and Bow feels like he needs to take a seat. He’s been so focused on Etheria, it’d been all too easy to relegate the rest of Prime’s conquered planets as an afterthought. 

“Uh, well, sort of, we think?” Adora says. “That’s why we put out the call for more information. We want to make sure he’s gone, and - “

“Wait,” Bow cuts in, holding a hand in front of her face. “How secure is this comm line?” 

“Oh, not secure at all!” Entrapta announces cheerfully. “I left it open so that anybody could make an incoming call if they had information. Did you want me to switch us over to a secure line?”

“Yes please,” Bow says tersely, and then offers the Star Siblings an embarrassed grin. “Just hang on a second, guys. I think it’d be better to continue this conversation on an encrypted call, if there really still are loyalists out there like you were saying.” 

“Oh, there definitely are,” Jewelstar confirms. “Some of them are clones, some of them are planets that have been ruled by Prime for so long that they don’t know how to function any other way.” 

“Are they chipped?” It’s a new voice - Catra. She’s been hanging back, lingering in the doorway out of sight of the Star Siblings, but seems to have been drawn into the conversation by the talk of pro-Prime planets. 

“No, they aren’t - “ Tallstar says, scrutinizing the feed, “ - and who are you, again?” Catra stiffens defensively, but Adora puts an arm around her waist and answers for her.

“You guys remember that friend I was talking about, back in the crystal caves?” 

“The  _ complicated _ one?” Tallstar says, raising an eyebrow. 

“The one that Prime captured?” Jewelstar adds, sounding more interested in the logistics than the interpersonal details. “You actually managed to get her out?” 

“Yeah,” Adora says, looking at Catra. Her voice is, just for a moment, soft with a thousand layers of meaning, rich with nearly two decades of history. “We did.” Catra takes her own eyes from the screen to look back at Adora, slips an answering arm around Adora’s waist. They both look back at the screen at the same time, smiling. Starla is grinning fit to burst; Tallstar is just barely failing to contain the little quirk of a grin at the corner of her lips. Jewelstar just looks impressed and disbelieving. 

“Switching over to encrypted data transfer,” Entrapta announces, dispelling the charged atmosphere, and then punches a button that makes the screen vanish. 

“Where did the call go?” Glimmer yelps. A moment later, it pops back up again. 

“Okay, we should be good now. Even if somebody gets their hands on these logs, it’ll take them approximately fifty to eighty years to crack the encryption.” Entrapta seems pleased with herself and frankly, Bow thinks, she  _ should _ be. He’s constantly impressed with what she’s able to accomplish and the broad range of skills and specializations she’s been dabbling in. 

“So, here’s the situation,” Bow starts, refocusing their attention on the mission and addressing the Star Siblings, “We managed to take out Prime’s flagship and disable the servers that were keeping his clones connected to the hivemind and sending his bots their orders. Prime himself was defeated by She-Ra in the fight for Etheria, but we discovered he’s been keeping backups of his consciousness and sending it to some remote server somewhere in the part of the galaxy that he first started expanding into roughly fifteen hundred years ago. We’ve narrowed it down to our top four best guesses, but all the data we have on them is about a thousand years out of date. Do you think you can help us to fill out the gaps in our knowledge?”

“We’ll do our best,” Jewelstar says immediately. “I still can’t believe you actually did it. I thought he really was untouchable.” 

“You did it with magic, didn’t you?” Tallstar prompts, her eyes on Adora. 

“Yeah,” Adora confirms, “we found out that was his only vulnerability. He never really understood magic, so he hadn’t constructed any defenses against it.” Bow remembers the way these three looked at Adora when they saw her magic manifesting for the first time, the way it completely changed their perspectives on whether it might be possible to win a war against Prime. Growing up surrounded by the Whispering Woods and best friends with Glimmer, he’d always sort of taken magic for granted as a natural and normal part of the world. What must it have been like, growing up knowing that once there had been magic in the universe, but that, as far as anybody could tell, it was gone forever? 

“Send us those planets you’re looking into,” Jewelstar says, eyes leaving the camera to tap some command into the console on his end. “We’ll have a look at them and see what we can tell you off the tops of our heads, and anything we don’t know, we’ll reach out to our network and fill in the gaps with the rest of the help of the Galactic Rebellion. I’m sure once they know it’s to help She-Ra, nobody will hesitate to provide us with anything they know that might be useful.” 

“Thanks guys,” Adora says, looking enormously relieved. “This is a huge help.” Bow leans forward and pulls up the records of the four planets they’re headed to, passing them along through the encrypted line Entrapta’s set up between the two ships. 

“Got them,” Tallstar says, peering over her brother’s shoulder to scan the records. “I can already tell you what your first problem will be. You remember what we were saying about planets that have been ruled by Prime for so long they don’t know how to be anything but loyal to him? Jantix II is one of those planets.” 

“Oh, perfect,” Catra mutters, tail flicking in a sharp movement that Bow has come to learn means she’s aggravated or unnerved. 

“That was going to be our second stop,” Bow says, reviewing their itinerary. “Our old First Ones logs said it’s a planet that Prime enslaved and was using for both technological research and development as well as... industrial vat-based nutrient farming, whatever that means.” He holds a quick hand up to interrupt Entrapta’s flash of excitement. “No, don’t explain it to me, please. I’d rather not know.” 

“I’d guess not much has changed since then,” Jewelstar says, scratching his chin and leaning back, looking thoughtful. “It’s one of the few places where the clones and bots shutting down didn’t actually impact a whole lot. Prime made sure all the planet’s leaders were fanatics who were totally loyal to him and dedicated to his cause. The clones weren’t really needed to run things, after so much time - our people on the ground there said that when the network dropped, the first thing the leaders of Jantix II did was put out an announcement about how everything was fine, Prime would reign eternal, and they should just continue as always. They’ve been using all their tech brains trying to get the clones reconnected to the hivemind since it went down, apparently, and they’ve got some sort of small localized network to keep them sane while they wait for Prime to get back.”

“No,” Hordak growls suddenly, from where he’s standing, horrified, against a wall. “We cannot allow that to happen. We - I - whatever technology they are using to accomplish that, we  _ must _ destroy it.”

“Oh!” Starla exclaims with an incongruous smile, “You guys have one too? We’ve got a couple clones on our side since the hivemind went down.” She strains her neck and looks to to side, as if she can see the off-screen speaker by moving her head. 

“Trust us, we’d like to destroy that planetary hivemind as much as you. Jantix II may be controlled by loyalists, but there are still plenty of innocent people from there who’d like to get out from under his heel.”

“Forget Denebria,” Hordak says, rallying himself and approaching the group, fists balled. “We should go to Jantix first. We must prioritize the destruction of that local hivemind.” 

“Our mission isn’t to get tangled up in some other planet’s uprising,” Catra snaps, pulling away from Adora to face Hordak down. Oh, this is bad. Bow doesn’t like when these two clash. He’s had the feeling for weeks that they’re both always only an insult away from a physical altercation, and he’d really hoped they would get through this mission without ever needing to use their tiny but well-stocked medbay. “It’s to deal with Horde Prime and make sure he can’t come back. We all agreed Denebria is just as likely of a candidate for the server as Jantix II, and if Jantix is packed full of people who want to protect Prime and bring him back, we’re going to have to be way more careful about how we go searching for the server. We picked the order of the planets for a  _ reason. _ We can’t afford to waste time going the long way just because you’ve got a stick up your ass about the idea of someone starting a new hivemind.” Bow straightens and pushes away from the console, but Glimmer beats him to the intervention and puts herself between the two. 

“Catra’s right,” Glimmer says, putting a palm up and just barely not touching Hordak’s chest to keep him from getting into lashing-out range. “But maybe we can do both. We search Denebria first, and then we go to Jantix, as planned. While we’re there, we’ll see what we can do about this hivemind thing.”

“When you’re close, we’ll put you in touch with the local Rebellion,” Tallstar says with a firm nod. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to have your help, even if it’s just for a quick smash and grab mission to look for the server and try to take out the hivemind in the process. They’ll know better than we do how to infiltrate the planet’s defenses without alerting the loyalists.” Hordak simmers down a little, although he does send Catra one last venomous glare before stalking back to his corner of the room. Bow notices absently that one of Hordak’s hands seems to be trembling.

“Thank you,” Adora says again. “This is a huge help. Anything you can send us to read up on about Jantix II will be useful. I’m glad we’re not going into it totally clueless. Got any information on the other three? What about Denebria, should we expect any problems with loyalists there?” 

“Denebria’s dead,” Tallstar says bluntly. “There’s nobody left alive to be loyal to Prime.” 

“Dead?” Bow repeats, frowning. “Our First Ones information on it says it was conquered and used for a few different industries just like Jantix II. It was one of Prime’s earliest victories. Hordak and Wrong Hordak both remember Denebria as a success story.” A movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention; Catra suddenly clutching the edge of a chair with one hand, touching the back of her neck with another, looking sick. 

“That was what we thought,” she whispers. “That was how he wanted us to think of it. But it wasn’t a success, was it? He - he tried to run it like a puppet state, but - “ her eyes scrunch shut, and Adora is there instantly at her side, a hand on her back. “I don’t remember. I wasn’t part of the hivemind long enough. The details are missing, it wasn’t relevant so it didn’t get thought about much. It’s an old story. Older than Krytis.” Catra falls silent, fingers flexing against her own neck like she’s fighting the urge to dig her claws into her own flesh. 

“We hid out on Denebria once,” Starla says, picking up the discussion when Catra stops talking. “There’s nothing there but ruins. Nothing on the planet can grow anymore. There were people there once, clearly, but nobody had lived there in hundreds of years by the time we got there. We didn’t stay long.” These three siblings have been through a lot, seen a lot, and don’t seem too bothered by the memory, but Bow feels a chill run down his back. 

“Well that should make it easy to search,” Entrapta says, her tone bright and jarring in juxtaposition. “If nothing else is putting out energy readings, a quick surface level skim of the planet should tell us if Horde Prime hid anything there. I suspect it would be underground, if it’s there - honestly not a terrible idea, hiding a server on a planet everybody thinks is dead and abandoned.” 

“But it wasn’t abandoned a thousand years ago,” Glimmer says, frowning. “What happened?” 

“A rebellion,” Hordak says quietly from his corner, clutching his arms to his chest. “I had forgotten. It is - it is easy to forget, that sometimes the way I have been conditioned to remember events is not always accurate. Reading the First One’s report about the puppet state and pulling my shared memories of it as a victory, I had assumed - “ he trails off, stares at the floor with a surly expression. “But I remember the full story now. The loyalist he put in charge of the planet was loyal in word but not in deed. He was hungry for power. He chafed under Prime’s strict command. His faction grew; they thought they could start an empire of their own, thought they were better suited to rule than to serve.” Bow’s stomach drops. He knows in his bones what’s coming, but it still hits him hard to hear. “Prime wiped the planet. Every life on Denebria was extinguished as punishment for the attempted coup. Prime called it a successful cleansing of a self-destructive species and moved on to his next operation without an instant of remorse.” 

The ship is quiet for a while. Bow closes his eyes for just a beat, wondering if sending his thoughts out to the millions of innocent dead at Prime’s hands means anything, accomplishes anything. He does it anyways. 

“We stick to the plan,” Adora says firmly. “We check Denebria, then Jantix II. What about the other two on our list. Do you guys know anything about them?”

“I don’t recognize these other ones,” Jewelstar says, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of Crelus or Kandrox.” 

“Me neither,” Tallstar confirms. “We’ll hit up our contacts, see if anybody else knows anything. And we’ll do it without announcing our intentions to everybody who gets anywhere near us. Word of advice? Turn that broadcast off. The Rebellion isn’t the only group out there listening. You’ve probably managed to pick up a tail or two, if you’ve been casting that line indiscriminately since you left Etheria.” 

“I didn’t even think about that,” Bow says guiltily, feeling like it really ought to have occurred to him. “You really think we’ve got loyalists following us?”

“Loyalists, mercenaries, opportunists,” Starla shrugs, rattling off this list of potential threats with remarkably little concern, “there’s a lot of people who would pick up your broadcast and decide to check out who you are and start imagining how you can be turned into a profit. Just be careful, okay? Not everybody out there in space is as friendly as we are.” 

“Considering you threw a knife at my head the first time we met, I feel like that should maybe worry me.” Adora’s tone is light and joking, but Bow knows she’s probably already freaking out about the possibility that they’re being followed. 

“Entrapta, can you find out if we’re being tracked?” He says, wanting to get that fear addressed as soon as possible. 

“I’m on it!” Entrapta says, hauling herself up into a vent, presumably scuttling back down to the nest of technology she’s built for herself in the engine room. 

“And shut the broadcast off while you’re at it!” he adds, unsure if she’s heard him. Oh well, he can check on it after the call. 

“It’s really good to see you guys,” Jewelstar says, when there’s a pause in the conversation. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Adora says. “You’ve been okay? You look kinda beat.” 

“It’s hard work, coordinating uprisings across dozens of systems,” Tallstar says wryly, “although it gets a lot easier when some magic woman across the galaxy takes out the enemy’s central server and renders all his core troops useless. There’s a lot of work to be done to take back the worlds that can still be saved, and even more work to be done to rebuild the planets that were destroyed.”

“Well, we’ll owe you one, after we’re done wiping every last trace of Prime from reality.” There’s an undercurrent of vengeful violence in this last part of Adora’s sentence that Bow doesn’t super love, but… he can’t exactly hold it against her. “If there’s anything we can do to help, just say the word.” They’re never going to get any time off ever again, are they? Maybe he should have a strategy meeting with Catra about how to get their overly ambitious girlfriends to calm down and stop accepting more missions after this one.

“You got it, Adora.” Tallstar smiles grimly, no doubt thinking about the enormous amount of tasks ahead of her that she could use She-Ra’s help with. “We’ll get to work on gathering more information for you about those other two planets. Once we’ve got more intel we’ll find our way back into transmission range and send over whatever we’ve found.”

“Thank you guys,” Glimmer says. “This makes a huge difference.”

“We’d better get going now. Try not to get boarded by pirates or ambushed by loyalists.”

“Nice meeting you, Catra,” Starla adds slyly, right before the call ends.

“Just what did you tell them about me?” Catra demands of Adora in an undertone, sounding more embarrassed than angry. 

“I - uh - it’s complicated,” Adora hedges. Glimmer snickers, and Bow hides his smile. 

“I’m gonna go check on Entrapta,” he says, leaving them to their conversation. On his way to the corridor, he passes Wrong Hordak standing silently in the doorway. He’d noticed the clone’s silence throughout the call, and places a hand on his shoulder. “You okay buddy?” 

“I - I am grappling with the consequences of realizing some of my memories are not entirely reliable,” he says, with utter transparency. Bow has absolutely no idea how to handle that, so he tries the reassuring shoulder squeeze paired with the soft smile. 

“Do you want to come with me to check on Entrapta, and we can talk about it on the way?” 

“That… that would be nice. Thank you, Brother Bow.” 

“Of course. Come on. Maybe we can make some tea afterwards.”

“I like tea.” They head down the hall together to the engine room, and Bow marvels for the hundredth time at how totally different Hordak and Wrong Hordak are. 


	24. Evasive Maneuvers

**Entrapta**

“Okay,” Entrapta announces over the shipwide comm, eyes on her data visualization, “so the broadcast is turned off, and I’ve had a little look-around with our long range scanners, and we are _definitely_ being followed.” Her view of the incoming information is suddenly blocked as a video screen opens itself up, showing Adora sitting on the bridge.

“Is it the Horde?” Adora asks impatiently. Entrapta whisks her hand over the window and brushes it aside so that she can study her data. 

“I don’t know yet, I don’t have a visual or much to go on in terms of comparing their radio signals and energy output to other potential types of craft. The good news is, this is the perfect test case for the drop-bot I’ve been working on since you brought up the question of long-range sensors.” As she says this, Bow leans over her shoulder to get a better look at the numbers.

“Entrapta, can you compare these readings to the ones we got from those drone fighter ships we ran into on our way back to Etheria last time?” Bow is good about sensible questions. She likes having him as a friend and a teammate, it really streamlines the communication process. 

“Oh, you mean the ones that were tracking the signals from Catra’s chip?”

“Yeah, those ones.” Bow says, as Adora winces and sends a nervous glance over her shoulder at someone off-screen. 

“Already did! These aren’t the same kind of ship, although some of them are giving off similarly formatted energy patterns. That _could_ mean that they’re Prime ships, maybe a model we haven’t encountered before. It could also just mean that modern space technology is consistent enough that most ships produce readings like these.”

“Wait, wait, hang on -” Adora cuts in, “ - you said _some of them._ Does that mean we’re being followed by more than one ship?”

“Oh yes, did I not make that clear? Apologies. We’re currently being tracked at a variety of ranges by no less than five different ships, each on their own trajectory and with varying levels of stealth. It seems highly likely that our equipment isn’t able to detect all of them, so the real number could be _much_ higher.” She sighs wistfully, zooming in on a particularly intriguing energy readout. What kind of engine makes that wonderful pattern? Is the energy source thulite, or something else? “You know, if we slowed down and let them get just a _teensy_ bit closer, I could learn _so much_ with a little more data - “

“No,” Bow says firmly, which is unfortunately the anticipated answer. “We need to take evasive maneuvers right away.” 

“Wait, Bow, maybe she has a point,” Adora says, which makes Entrapta very briefly give the comm call screen her full attention. A smile blooms across her face as she allows herself to imagine the bounty of new information about ship construction science she might just get her hands on. 

“Uh, _what,”_ Bow says.

“What if we turn around and just face them? I’ve fought in space as She-Ra before, and this time you wouldn’t be piloting through an asteroid field.”

“Adora, we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with,” Glimmer says, appearing at Adora’s side on the bridge. “Entrapta _just_ said there are at least five different ships but maybe more, and they’re not the kind you know you can just smash as She-Ra.”

“So what, we’re just gonna _run?”_ Adora sounds like she’s becoming heated. Ohhh, Entrapta hopes she wins the argument, she would _love_ to get visuals on some of the mysterious ships following them. And if She-Ra destroys them, well, surely nobody would deny her the chance to just quickly collect up some of their pieces, right? Maybe they wouldn’t notice if she did it while Adora was busy with her carnage. All she’d need is her space suit and her tether and _oh_ what a perfect opportunity to test the new jets she installed in her suit’s wrists! Maybe she’d be able to convince Hordak and Wrong Hordak to help her. They could fill their pockets with debris! Oh, those pockets had been a _good_ idea. 

“These ships following us are just a distraction.” This off-screen voice is Catra. Boo, Catra has always had that unimaginative tunnel vision when it comes to the clear path of a mission versus the ever-expanding possibilities of discovery. Entrapta gives it a sixty-three, no, sixty-four percent chance that the words ‘our mission’ make an appearance in her next sentence. “Our mission is to find and destroy the backup server as fast as possible. We shouldn’t waste time getting into fights if we can avoid them.” Haha! Wonderful to have a hypothesis validated by another data point. 

“So that’s a no on shoving Wrong Hordak into the void of space during an ongoing battle in hopes of collecting pieces of alien engine technology?” Entrapta muses idly, scrutinizing another interesting set of signal patterns from one of the ships. This one is erratic and poorly optimized, which leads her to envision some sort of piecemeal junker of a ship. The idea makes her heart flutter; who doesn’t love a roughed up weirdo doing their best in spite of messy origins? Ohhhh she wants to meet that ship so _badly._

“What??” Glimmer shrieks into the call. “There’s no way we’re letting you do that, even if it weren’t a stupid idea to turn around and fight an unknown number of enemy ships.” Entrapta has already forgotten what Glimmer is reacting to, utterly immersed in the output readings from the junker ship. In her heart she’s already started thinking of her as Alexandria. 

“Look, we should be able to get away just fine with Melog’s help,” Catra is saying, the conversation apparently having moved on without Entrapta. “We got past Prime’s blockade just fine, so none of the ships that are following us should be able to track us if Prime couldn’t. He’s got the best technology in the galaxy.”

“According to _him,_ at least,” Glimmer says doubtfully. While they’re talking, Entrapta decides to take initiative and send out her drop-bot, setting its programming to take rapidfire snapshots of visual data and scanner data whenever a ship comes into range and to immediately send the information on an encrypted line back to Darla. It fires off into space behind them, ejected from the custom port that Entrapta installed for this specific purpose, and sends off the signal that announces it is ready and waiting for the ships on their tail to eventually cross its path. Good, now at least whatever the rest of them decide to do, she’ll get _some_ information. Ohhh, she hopes the drop-bot manages to capture some photos of magnificent, rugged Alexandria…! 

“So what, we just go invisible and wait for them to lose us?” Adora doesn’t sound impressed by this plan.

“That could take a while,” Bow says. “Plus if they’ve been following us for a while and we just stay on the exact same trajectory, it wouldn’t be that hard for them to guess we’re just going in the same direction we were headed before they lost us. Entrapta, how much will it hurt our fuel reserves to do a little fancy flying to get them off our trail, maybe lure them in the wrong direction before we go invisible and get back on course?”

“Oh, we should have plenty,” Entrapta says, not even bothering to pull up the fuel consumption dashboard to make her point. “Thulite is remarkably efficient energy storage when paired with the right submolecular extraction converters. I’ve actually been meaning to tell you about a theory of mine on how we could _tweak_ the way the engine - “ She’s already excitedly pulling up some of the equations and tests she’s run on her thulite extraction conversion theories to show Bow when he cuts her off.

“Entrapta, I will absolutely take you up on that, and I _am_ sorry to interrupt, but we need to adjust course and lose these ships sooner rather than later.”

“Aw, do we have to? I really wanted to meet them.” 

“We’ll be going to other planets, you’ll see lots of new technology there, okay? For now we just need to make sure we aren’t leading a bunch of Horde loyalists right to where Prime’s backup server is hidden.” 

“Fine,” Adora says tersely over the comm channel, “we throw them off the scent and then use Melog to go invisible, lose them, and get back on course.”

“Actually, that gives me an idea,” Bow says. “Entrapta, how far are we from the nearest planet with a source of thulite?” 

“I can check, but why? I just told you our fuel reserves are fine.”

“But _they_ don’t know that. If we simulate going dark like actually happened when our crystals ran out last time, then drift a little and change course for a planet with thulite, they won’t be as suspicious about why we suddenly changed course. That way it’ll be less obvious that we know we’re being tailed, and we can lure them further away from our real objective before vanishing.” 

“Damn, Bow, that’s actually a really good idea,” Catra remarks. “I must be rubbing off on you.” 

“You better not be!” Glimmer threatens; Entrapta puts the odds at about 46% that Glimmer is engaging in social bonding behaviours that appear to be antagonistic from the outside, but are actually a form of playfulness. Entrapta’s gathered a lot of data on this subcategory of friendship-developing interactions from her time in the Fright Zone. There is, however, a 54% chance that Glimmer is being serious and is alarmed by the prospect of Bow becoming more like Catra. 

“I’m pulling up the coordinates of the nearest source of thulite,” Entrapta narrates mindlessly as she puts the task to Darla, setting the scan to run in the background while she’s programming a sequence of ship performance subroutines that will imitate how she’d be acting if they ran out of fuel. It’s a simple thing, and doesn’t take long. “Okay, there’s a planetoid about three days away that fits our needs. We’re ready to go dark and simulate the power outage whenever you’re ready.” 

“Wait, three days? That’s a long time to be going off course.” Adora’s frowning again. Does that mean she _doesn’t_ want Entrapta to hit the blackout button? 

“We don’t have to go all the way to the planet,” Bow says. “We can do a day and a half in that direction and then go invisible. They’ll put two and two together and head to where they expect us to be - some of them might even race ahead and try to set up an ambush.”

“But we’ll never arrive to spring their trap,” Glimmer says, grinning. “Perfect.”

“Not perfect,” Adora sighs. “Perfect would have been if we’d been thinking a little harder about what the broadcasts might attract and weren’t losing any days of travel at all to having to shake off a fleet of scavengers and Horde loyalists.” 

“There _is_ no such thing as perfection,” Entrapta corrects reflexively, letting her eyes slip indulgently back to the readings from Alexandria. “You come up with ideas, you try them, and typically they don’t work the first time. So you iterate, and you try again, and sometimes you adjust your hypothesis. If you got angry every time something didn’t go according to plan you’d never learn anything. I have to remind Hordak of that all the time.” 

“Euch, did you just compare me to _Hordak?”_ Adora’s making a face, but Entrapta’s only half paying attention. “Okay, you know what, nevermind. That’s a good enough plan, and it’ll solve our problem, and only cost us a few days. Let’s do it.”

“Great!” Entrapta activates the subroutines immediately, and the ship lurches and goes dark, illuminated only by emergency lighting. 

“A little warning!” Catra shouts from somewhere on the bridge. 

“I’m gonna go back up there,” Bow says, heading for the ladder. “I do really want to hear about that engine stuff you were talking about at some point - but _please_ don’t tinker with the engine or the fuel system while we’re actively flying through space?” 

“I won’t!” She says, wearing what she hopes is a reassuring smile, knowing that she absolutely will. Bow does not look reassured. He lingers for one moment on the bottom rung, and then shakes his head and climbs back up out of the engine room. 

  
  


**Catra**

With the ship running on emergency power and the only lights the gentle baseboard glow, it’s too dark to read books or pull out the hobby kits - at least, too dark for the people who aren’t Catra - and so they end up back in Bow and Glimmer’s room, killing time by chatting. She can tell Adora is still beating herself up over the fact that the broadcasts were telegraphing their movements to potential enemies; she’s seen Adora like this hundreds of times over their years together, determined to take ownership of a mistake that either wasn’t that bad or wasn’t really something she could have controlled. She wonders if Adora still hears Shadow Weaver’s voice in her head every time she screws up. Catra certainly does. Maybe she should suggest they ‘stretch’ tonight, although it’s clear from the clench of her shoulders and the distance in her smile that it’ll take a lot more coaxing than usual to get Adora out of her head. 

As soon as that call came through, Catra knew it would probably wind Adora back up again about the mission, whether it was good news or bad. The call alone was a reminder that they _have_ a mission, that this isn’t just a fun little distraction. Not to mention it would have been awfully optimistic to think Adora would relax a little more once they got more information - ultimately it’s just more fodder for that nonstop mind of hers to chew on, more details to obsess over planning out. Yeah, obviously it’s important to be prepared for what lies ahead, but they still have two weeks of travel left before they hit the first planet on their list, and Catra doesn’t like the thought of Adora spending every second of those two weeks being mad at herself for a small error that could be corrected without too much fuss.

Ugh. She might have to initiate one of those _feelings_ conversations. It still feels like a tactical error, to open herself so wide and lay bare so much of her inner self. It still occasionally makes her feel like she’s back with Prime, her carefully guarded collection of every secret thought or feeling she’s ever had peeled open by force and rifled through with wanton carelessness. 

At her feet, Ceweldan raises an ear, picking up on her flicker of distress. She puts a hand on their flank, soothing the both of them with the touch. It still takes work to stop herself from thinking of them as Melog, but she feels a little thrill of personal pride and sheepish fondness every time she remembers. That, she supposes, is the reward for putting up with the terrifying ordeal of being vulnerable and open with somebody - the warm, steadying feeling of connection and mutual respect and trust that happens when they give you access to a more intimate part of themselves in return.

“All is well,” Ceweldan says gently, putting their big head on Catra’s knee, “you are safe here.” At this simple reassurance, Catra unclenches her jaw and breathes a little easier. She hadn’t realized she was getting wound up. It almost makes her laugh - she’s hardly any better than Adora. Like she’s alerted to the thought - no, her attention was just drawn this way by Ceweldan moving and making noise, nobody is in her head, nobody can read her thoughts - Adora turns and smiles at Catra and reaches for her hand. Catra takes it without a moment of hesitation, and then casts her eyes over at Bow and Glimmer over on their bed. Glimmer is _in_ Bow’s lap. They’re both so physically affectionate all the time, Catra feels a little… jealous, maybe? Of how comfortable they are, being like that in front of others. She wonders if she’ll ever be that comfortable with Adora, or if she’ll always be subconsciously looking for a cover story for wanting to touch her. 

“What about you, Catra?” Glimmer asks, and Catra realizes with a jolt that she’s been totally zoned out of the conversation. 

“Sorry, what? I was lost in thought there.” Even this tiny admission is a foreign experience, a step into unknown territory that feels inherently perilous. A year ago if she’d been caught not listening, she’d have just snarled an insult at whoever was talking to her, or walked away, or stared them down until they said something she could respond to with confidence - she certainly wouldn’t be admitting her lapse in attention and apologizing for it. The Bright Moon natives, of course, have no idea what a big deal this is. They probably don’t even perceive anything unusual about it, let alone comprehend the enormous vulnerability in these words.

But Adora notices. Of course Adora notices. She sends Catra a little _look_ \- a wash of surprise that’s steeped in approval. It makes Catra’s chest go hot, and she wants to look away, to hide from the intensity of that look, hide from the way she feels completely naked whenever Adora praises her. She fights through the urge to run and rides the crest of the feeling instead. It would be unbearable if not for Adora’s hand holding tight to hers. 

“Happy memories,” Adora clarifies. Ah, right. They were talking about their childhoods - a dangerous subject around Horde brats like her and Adora. Probably why it hasn’t come up until now. Catra imagines they feel safer asking while cradled in the unusually dim lighting of the artificial power outage. Easier to talk about difficult things in the darkness, where you can pretend there isn’t someone listening. 

“Happy memories,” Catra repeats, mulling over the concept. Sure, she’s got some, but it’ll take some thinking to pick an appropriate one for this mixed company. “Someone else go while I’m thinking.” 

“I’ve got one,” Adora says, and so much for thinking, because Catra already knows Adora will have her full attention no matter what story she tells. “We were… I want to say thirteen or fourteen or so. It was my turn on squad leader rotation - it was before they gave me the assignment permanently, everybody got a month at a time to - “ Adora looks over at Bow and Glimmer, hands waving as she tries to give this rapid explanation, interrupting the flow of her own narrative, “ - anyways, so, I was in charge during this really important training checkpoint. I really wanted to get our scores up, because - “

“Because _Kyle_ was squad leader the month before, and he tanked our scores so badly that we were down to a quarter of a ration bar a day,” Catra snorts, remembering the fury and the hunger very clearly. They’d all been moaning about how hungry they were, being extra nasty to Kyle in their desperation for food to fuel their growing bodies, which of course only turned him into an even less competent leader. 

“Right,” Adora nods, and Bow and Glimmer pass a look between them that clearly says _this is supposed to be a good memory?_ “So anyways, we get to the test and of course I completely botch everything - “

“You did _not,”_ Catra interrupts, and Adora waves the interjection away. 

“I was in charge and we didn’t get the times we needed. It was my fault.”

“We cut our completion time in _half,_ and we only lost Kyle because he’s got the reaction time of a rusted out tank turret.”

“But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t perfect. Anyways, that’s not the point, the point is, I was really, really upset.” And then, _oh,_ Catra realizes why Adora is telling this story, remembers how the rest of the day unfurled and knows what’s coming next. It embarasses her to silence, forestalling any further interruptions. “I couldn’t face the rest of the squad. We got half rations that night - which - “ her face screws up in frustration, even now, “I’d _promised_ them I’d get us back up to full ration bars if they’d just _listen_ to me, and I let them down. So instead of eating dinner, I told them to split mine between them so they’d at least be a little closer to what they were supposed to get, and just got up and left. I was gonna go back to the barracks and go to bed early, try to sleep through the hunger.” She shifts in her bean bag chair to face Catra a little more, unclasping their fingers to instead hold Catra’s hand palm up, stroking her thumb across it like it’s something precious. “I was there maybe… five, ten minutes tops before Catra shows up. And she just says ‘Come on.’ No explanation, nothing. So I got up and followed.” 

Catra risks a glance at the two on the bed, and immediately regrets it. There’s pity in their expressions. Ugh. At least they aren’t cutting in to tell Adora that this happy memory is actually a shitty one, even though she’s pretty sure they want to. 

“She leads me through this back way I’ve never been before, up these rickety catwalks and rusty ladders and - the first thing she says after climbing in total silence for like fifteen minutes is to be careful about which railings I put my weight on.” The smile that spreads across Adora’s face at this is radiant, even in the dim lighting. Catra’s face gets hot at hearing Adora repeat those words out loud in front of other people. Fourteen years old in the Fright Zone, that was basically saying _I love you._ In the moment, Adora had barely reacted, and Catra’s heart had hammered in terror for the rest of the climb, wondering if she’d revealed too much. 

“By the time I finally ask where the heck we’re going,” Adora continues, still smiling, “we’ve gone so far from anywhere I’ve ever been. At that point we were on the outside of the building. I could feel in my bones it was dangerous to be there, not just because it was falling apart and we could pretty easily plummet to our deaths, but also if we got caught we’d be living off of shoe leather for the next month, maybe worse.” Worse, definitely, for Catra. It had always been that way. “But Catra just laughs at me and says we’re almost there, so I follow her and watch carefully where she puts her feet and her hands, because nobody knows how to climb like Catra does, and making sure I follow the exact same route she does is probably the only thing keeping me from falling and breaking my neck.”

“I was watching you,” Catra protests. “I’d have caught you if you slipped.” Adora looks at her through the darkness of the room and her smile shifts almost imperceptibly from reminiscent to that soft look she gets that almost always precedes the phrase _I love you,_ these days. 

“I know,” Adora says tenderly, putting three words into two, just for Catra’s ears. “I wasn’t ever really worried.” She pauses, apparently needing a moment to remember where she was in the story. “So, we climb and we climb and we finally get up onto this platform. By the time I hauled myself up I was so exhausted that I just sort of laid there for a while catching my breath.” Looked like a real dingus while you were doing it, Catra doesn’t say, because she doesn’t want to admit she was taking the chance to stare longingly at Adora the entire time. “When I finally peeled my forehead from the platform and looked up, there was Catra, sitting on a railing with the red moon setting behind her. I realize suddenly we’re up higher than any other building in the Fright Zone, and we can see for miles all around, more of the world than I’ve ever seen before in my life. And then Catra laughs at me, and pulls out a bundle of paper towels she had tucked into her shirt, and opens it so I can see what’s inside - it’s two halves of a ration bar, mine and hers.”

“I wasn’t just going to let those useless idiots eat _your_ food,” Catra says, perfectly reciting the words she used in the moment. She’d thought so carefully about how to present this gift to Adora, to try to snap her out of her stupid self-sacrificing fast without making it too obvious she was worried about her. Adora seems to recognise the implication - that this memory is important to Catra too, if she remembers her own phrasing so clearly nearly seven years later. She looks surprised, which makes Catra want to laugh. What an idiot. How could she ever have doubted that that day meant something to Catra?

“Yeah,” Adora says, ghosting her fingertips across Catra’s knuckles, brushing her thumb across Catra’s palm, “that’s what you said. So we sat up there and we ate our dinner away from everybody else, alone for the first time in our own little sanctuary. I guess the thing about it was... I would never have found that place on my own, you know? So the fact that you shared it with me…” she’s only talking to Catra, now. It’s like Bow and Glimmer and Cewelden aren’t even in the room with them. “It was the most incredible gift anybody had ever given me.” 

“And here I thought you were just looking at me like that because I was feeding you and we were all starving little brats who’d fight over the smallest scraps. Lonnie threatened to break my neck in my sleep when I grabbed your entire half of the bar and ran for it, you know. She thought I was taking it for myself.” Adora snort-laughs.

“So _that’s_ why you slept in my bed that night.” 

“Yeah, sure it was,” Catra teases. They both know the truth. She dares another look over at Bow and Glimmer, and is relieved to see the pity is gone, replaced by something… soft, something approving. They won’t ever fully understand what she and Adora went through together, not without having lived it, but maybe it isn’t terrible to let them see just a little bit. She tries to imagine it, having friends who actually know what she cares about, who she feels safe trusting with her honest self. Maybe, maybe. It feels like asking to be hurt. But if Adora wants to talk about this, wants to give these two that kind of access to her heart, maybe Catra can try too.


	25. Leadership

**Adora**

She can’t sleep. Her mind keeps running in circles, fixating on the knowledge that they’re being tracked by hostile ships and drifting in dark mode, loudly telegraphing vulnerability. She’s just waiting for the alarms to sound, to feel the ship rocked to the side by a blast. The silent night, rendered indistinguishable from ‘day’ by the fake blackout, yawns open in an impossible chasm before her. It feels like she’s been staring at the ceiling of their bedroom for years, waiting to feel tired, waiting for her fears to settle down to the point that she can unclench. She sighs in frustration and repositions yet again. Maybe _this_ angle will make it easier to drift off. Not that it worked the last time she tried it. 

“Still awake?” Catra asks, her own voice clear and alert. 

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” she says, making more of a statement about her frame of mind than her readily apparent lack of unconsciousness. “That story you told earlier makes me miss our lookout. I keep wanting to suggest we sneak out of our bunk and climb up there and then remembering we’re in space.” Adora huffs a little laugh at this, and then rolls over to look at Catra. Her eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, so it isn’t hard to see Catra’s face. Adora picks out a complicated mix of emotions there, from the squinch of her eyebrows and the angle of her ears and the rigidity of her shoulders. 

“I’m sure Entraptra’s still awake. It probably wouldn’t take much to convince her to let us take the suits for a little joyride outside the ship.” It’s irresponsible, she knows, leaving the safety of the hull, wasting the air stored in their tanks, putting needless wear and tear on their suits, but the little impulsive streak that lives deep inside of Adora’s heart always loves to make its appearance whenever Catra starts looking like she needs an outlet. 

“You’re such a troublemaker,” Catra says, now wearing an affectionate smirk. “You’d think you’d know better, considering a late night joyride is what got us into this whole mess.” That memory, like many of her memories, stings to be reminded of. But maybe it’s worth the twitch of pain just to learn how to talk about the past without letting it poison their present. 

“Nobody has ever accused me of being smart,” Adora says, with a self-effacing grin. She’d thought that would make Catra laugh and play along, but instead something like concern enters Catra’s eyes and softens her smirk. 

“You _are_ smart.” She says it with a firm finality that she punctuates with a hand on Adora’s cheek. It sends an unexpected thrill through Adora’s body to hear Catra say, makes her heart clench. “And it’s cute that you’re willing to hurl yourself into the vacuum of space with me to try to cheer me up. I don’t know that it would be quite the same as the lookout, though.” Adora hums thoughtfully, slightly distracted by the lingering pleasure of Catra’s praise, and then has a thought. 

“We could go to the bridge,” she proposes shyly. “We could lie on the floor in the dark and look up at the stars and just talk about whatever, like we used to.” 

“You know, I like that idea,” Catra whispers, her smile reasserting itself. “See? I told you you’re smart.” Flush with the approval, Adora finds herself smirking across the bed at Catra, inflating a little bit with pride. “Don’t let it go to your head!” Catra laughs and gives her a gentle shove. They climb out of bed and pull on pajamas, and then wordlessly slip out into the hallway and walk down to the bridge. 

Adora has never walked through Darla in bare feet before, except while navigating their bedroom to go between the bed and the tiny closet of a bathroom. She’s surprised by the fact that the floors are pleasantly warm instead of chilly like she’d expected them to be out in the halls. Were they always like that, or did Entrapta adjust that somehow? Could it have been to make things more comfortable for Catra, who never wears shoes? She’ll have to ask Entrapta about it sometime. 

“I almost like it better at night,” Catra whispers as they cross the threshold into the bridge. Adora follows her inside and the sprawl of sky opens up above and around her. She feels like she’s never really appreciated the view offered by the bridge before. “I can see why Entrapta keeps night hours. It’s… kind of peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Adora agrees gently, trailing after Catra to find an open patch of floor they can sprawl out onto. Just like that, almost as jarringly and suddenly as stepping into a Crystal Castle hologram, she feels like they’re back at the lookout in the Fright Zone, seventeen years old and totally unaware of how their lives are about to change. Metal against her back, the sky wide and open above her, and Catra by her side, she’d felt like she could take on any challenge and win. It’s bittersweet, to feel so suddenly close to that old version of herself, to recognize in hindsight how much she was stubbornly refusing to see about the Horde, about Shadow Weaver, about Catra, about herself. What would she say to that kid, propped up and smiling confidently with all her weight balanced on crutches made of denial, in those final moments before the world kicked it all out from under her? _You survive,_ maybe. She wonders if she’d have dared to believe it. She’d certainly never expected to.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Catra prompts softly, reaching out and taking Adora’s hand, shattering the illusion. Seventeen year old Catra would never do that, although when they were younger they hugged and cuddled and held hands all the time. Adora twines their fingers together.

“Thinking about the last time we were like this, at the lookout. Thinking about what a stupid kid I was, back then.” She laughs; the sound is bitter in her mouth. Catra shuffles over so that they’re touching, side to side, and puts her head against Adora’s shoulder. 

“We were both just stupid kids,” Catra whispers, eyes on the stars. “We were just trying to survive.” It’s like a jolt, to hear Catra say out loud something so similar to what Adora was just thinking. 

“And we did survive,” Adora confirms, giving Catra’s hand a gentle squeeze. “For now, you know, assuming I don’t get us all killed because of dumb ideas like openly broadcasting a message saying we’re rebels looking for info on Prime as we float through space.”

“You’re not allowed to blame yourself for that,” Catra says, just as insistently as before when she told Adora she wasn’t stupid. “The whole team talked about that plan and we all agreed it was a good idea without thinking about any of the potential dangers.”

“Yeah, well, I should have known better,” Adora grumbles. 

“Oh yeah? Why?” Catra’s question throws Adora off balance. Why _does_ she have this nagging feeling that it was her job to think things through and anticipate any and all possible dangers? Her job that she alone failed at? 

“I dunno…” she sighs, feeling her mind rush to offer her dozens of new reasons this latest misstep is all her fault. “I’m so used to being in charge. I should be in the habit of spending the extra time considering the risks, making sure the decisions I make aren’t going to get anybody hurt.”

“I know I’m the last person who has any right to tell you off for this, but… you should really trust your team a little more.” Catra says this with a wry, self-aware twist to her words, but she sounds completely sincere. “Entrapta’s brilliant. Even if you can’t depend on her to have useful priorities or the ability to focus on a mission for more than ten seconds, you can count on her to tech her way into or out of just about anything. We suggested she fake a blackout and she set that up in, what, a minute? Bow is - I can’t believe I’m saying this - actually really sensible? He’s _way_ too trusting and I still don’t understand why he feels the need to make everything into an arrow, but he’s got a good strategic mind and twice the caution that you and Glimmer have put together.”

“Aw, you used her name!” Adora blurts, excitedly turning to beam at Catra. Catra blushes and continues staring at the sky as she resumes her rundown. 

“As for _Sparkles._ She knows she has to work to earn your trust back. If I were in your place, I’d be pretty pissed at her… but at the same time, I really don’t think she’s the same person she was when she made the choice to activate the Heart. She’s still proving herself again after all that.” She hesitates, and then says, “Same as I am.” 

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me,” Adora says quietly. 

“Yeah… yeah, I do. I did a lot of awful shit, Adora. I hurt a lot of people.” Adora feels a familiar, comforting sensation: Catra’s tail wrapping possessively around her calf. “Anyways, my point is that you’ve got a really solid team around you. They’re more trustworthy than anybody I ever had on my side, and not just because they aren’t egomaniac child abusers. They’re good leaders in their own right. They can take initiative. They can adapt on the fly when the situation changes. That was part of why the first thing I always did in a big fight was lure you away from them. You were annoyingly strong as a team if we were dumb enough to let you work together.” 

“Huh,” Adora mumbles thoughtfully, mulling all this over. It’s easy to mentally slip back into the role of She-Ra, Hero of Etheria. But out here, there isn’t a Rebellion force or a civilian population in need of a rallying cry, a figurehead. It’s just her old team, people she’s depended on for so much already, people who have had her back time and time again. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense to put herself on some kind of pedestal above them. Catra is silent, allowing her to think it through, and Adora is appreciative. It’s a lot to absorb, and the tangled mess inside of her head is more than any single tug can undo, but she feels like maybe this perspective gives her a slightly better grasp on a promising thread. She strokes her thumb against the side of Catra’s hand. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She tries to imagine ever trusting her old squad the way she trusts Bow and Glimmer, but she can’t wrap her head around it. Maybe in a different reality, in a different time. Maybe if the five of them had grown up loved and supported like Bow and Glimmer did, they’d have made an incredible team, a team that trusted and respected each other and knew how to work together. It feels weird to think about, feels weird to even imagine who those cadets could have been in another life. When was the last time she saw any of them? Years ago, maybe. Unprompted, a question bubbles to the surface of her thoughts. 

“Hey, Catra?”

“Mm?”

“When was it that Shadow Weaver fell from Hordak’s good graces, and you took charge of all the attack planning?” 

“That feels like a lifetime ago.” Catra rubs her face with her free hand, grunt-swears like she’s wracking her memory. “It was when we used the Black Garnet to drain the magic out of the other runestones, and the weather went all crazy. She flipped her shit about us tampering with the Black Garnet so I took her down with Hordak’s blessing. Why?” Adora turns her head to look at Catra in open awe. 

“You never told me that. You actually fought her and _won?_ I can’t believe you weren’t, like, _way_ more cocky around her when we got back to Etheria.” Catra shrugs sheepishly. 

“I mean… I dunno. You know her. Even when you win, she finds a way to make you feel like you lost.” Adora is intimately familiar with that ability of hers, yes. “Anyways, why are you asking? You made it sound like there was a reason you wanted to know.” It takes Adora a second to backtrack from the incredible mental image of Catra beating the everloving shit out of Shadow Weaver and remember what she’d been meaning to get at. 

“Right, yeah, after the Whispering Woods froze over. That was when everything switched over to bots.”

“Yeah, that was the strategy - overwhelm you guys with disposable bots so we could grab other turf while you were distracted.” 

“No, no, that’s not what I mean - there was this distinct point in the war where suddenly we were fighting more bots than soldiers. I always just assumed it was because you had Entrapta, you were making more of them because she’d improved the manufacturing process, or something, but that wasn’t what changed. Entrapta had been there for months before the switch. It was _you.”_ Catra doesn’t react to this. She is, in fact, suspiciously non-emotive about it, still looking up into the vastness of space with no expression whatsoever. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she says, just a little breathily. 

“You said it yourself,” Adora points out gently, rolling over onto her side to face Catra. “You considered the bots disposable. That means the soldiers _weren’t._ The _people_ weren’t.” Catra blinks rapidly, finally turning to meet Adora’s gaze. Blinking, blinking, blinking, tears visible in her eyes. 

“You can’t just make stuff up to make me feel better, Adora,” Catra croaks, her voice rough with the effort of damming up a swell of emotions. “I can’t undo what I did, and I can’t just pretend that somehow I was better than the rest of them.” 

“I’m not making it up. I saw it with my own eyes. It changed practically overnight. The most dangerous missions were given to bots and drones instead of soldiers. Whether or not you knew what you were doing, whether or not it was a conscious decision to change the way assignments were handled, there _was_ a difference between you and Shadow Weaver, and it was that you never treated living people as disposable pawns.”

“Don’t say never,” Catra whispers, rolling over and tucking her head in against her chest, shielding her face with her arms. “Because that isn’t true. Maybe I was better than her when I started. But by the end, I was just as bad.” 

“No,” Adora interrupts, wanting to wrap herself around Catra and hold her tight, but unsure if that’s what she needs right now. She stays just a few inches away, ready and within easy reach. “Shadow Weaver was horrible to the very end. She never took ownership of the damage she did to us, to tons of other people. She never apologized. She never tried to fix what she’d done. One big sweeping self-sacrifice at the end isn’t a real apology. It’s a cop-out.” Catra sniffs loudly from the protective hideaway of her own arms. “You’re here, trying to do better, trying to heal the damage the Horde did, trying to make amends and be someone better. You are not just as bad as her, and you were never just as bad as her.” Catra trembles, and it breaks Adora’s heart. For the thousandth time, she wishes she had tried harder to rescue Catra from the Fright Zone, to convince her to leave, to kidnap her, to do… something, _anything_ that would have spared her from all of this. Catra sniffs again and reaches behind herself with one hand, gesturing. That is all the invitation Adora needs. She shuffles forward, pressing her front to the curve of Catra’s back, folding her in a firm embrace. “You’re safe, okay? She’s gone, and she’s never coming back, and you don’t ever have to go back to that. It’s over. You got out.”

**Hordak**

The voices coming through the vents become low and nearly inaudible. The same phrases repeated over and over, a gentle mantra that can’t quite obscure the sounds of his former second in command sobbing softly. _You’re safe, she’s gone, you aren’t her, you never chose this, you got out._

Hordak has had the box of miniature snickerdoodles clasped to his chest for approximately twenty minutes, standing frozen in the kitchen, unable to walk away from this conversation he accidentally stumbled upon. He realizes that his long absence will eventually attract Entrapta’s notice; if she comes loudly looking for him and reveals that he has been eavesdropping - no, he doesn’t even want to start thinking about the potential fallout of that, trapped on this tiny craft with them for the next month and a half. He must slip away now, before there is any chance of his being discovered. 

He clambers back into the engine room with the cookies, feeling shaken and hollow. 

“Thanks Hordak,” Entrapta says as she takes the boxed treats, and then, “Are you crying?” He blots his cheeks with his hands in surprise. 

“A manifestation of my physical weakness,” he says offhandedly. “My defect acting up, nothing more.”

“That’s a peculiar symptom. Once I finish these calculations, I’m taking you to the medbay for another scan. We need to start figuring out how to provide you with some better support, especially if you’re experiencing new issues. How long has this one been happening?”

“I - I do not know,” he says, and he is telling the truth. 

  
  


**Glimmer**

“I am _so_ ready to get out of this horrible darkness,” she growls through gritted teeth, tossing her fork down against her dinner plate with a dramatic clatter. “It’s been a day. We’ve been faking the power outage long enough.”

“We were planning on getting halfway to the planetoid with the thulite before we vanished,” Bow says evenly, his statement carefully neutral. It isn’t a rebuttal but it isn’t a motion to support, either. Something insecure and uncertain twists a little inside of her at it - she can’t remember if he was like this with her before, or if this is new since she nearly got the entire universe destroyed. He’s always been willing to contradict her, right? Is it a good sign or a bad sign? Are they closer to normal, closer to the way they used to be, or is his cautious phrasing a sign that he still doesn’t trust her to not take pushback personally? Augh, and dammit, here she is taking the pushback personally. 

“Melog’s ready whenever,” Catra shrugs, seeming like she doesn’t care one way or the other. The darkness may not mean much to her more sensitive eyes, but that isn’t the only inconvenience they’re facing. 

“I’d really like to have a shower that isn’t ice cold,” Adora concedes. 

“Yes!” Glimmer crows, “Exactly! And if I have to wash another dish by hand, I’m going to throw myself out the airlock.” 

“You’ve washed the dishes _once,”_ Bow points out, laughing. 

“And it was _awful._ Can we please go back to having a robot doing it for us?” 

“I do miss Sudsy,” Entrapta concurs, sending a longing glance in the direction of the kitchen. “She gives the best backrubs.” The whole table turns to look at her as one in utter confusion. She turns back to her meal without so much as noticing that she’s completely baffled everyone around her with the statement, and offers no explanation. Determined to get her way, Glimmer brings them back on track.

“It won’t make that big of a difference to vanish half a day earlier than we meant to, right? I just don’t see what the downsides are.” 

“If the ships tracking us notice that we completely vanish for no reason, they’ll know something weird is up.” Bow leans back in his chair, expression thoughtful. “Should we try to make it seem like their equipment is malfunctioning? Time our cloaking with like, a nearby solar flare or something?” 

“That might be tricky,” Entrapta muses, producing a data pad from who knows where and skimming through it with her hair while she uses her actual hands to eat dinner. “I don’t think there’s much nearby we can expect to happen in the next six hours that would reasonably be expected to produce that kind of glitch. Space is - “ her eyes go wide and bright at a notification from the tracker pad. “Oh, _fantastic!!_ My drop-bot data is in!!” She jumps up, dinner forgotten, and hauls herself into a vent with a joyous cackle. 

“And there she goes,” Catra remarks theatrically, a little smile on the corner of her mouth. It’s still a little jarring for Glimmer to remember this is the same Catra that captured her and gave her to Shadow Weaver to be tortured, the same Catra that caused the fall of Salineas and nearly did the same to Bright Moon. The thought tugs her mind back to the story Adora told last night. There’s still so much depth to the both of them that Glimmer didn’t realize she had no understanding of. She thought she knew Adora, _really_ knew her, but she’s starting to grasp that the awkward initial transition from Horde soldier to member of the Rebellion was only surface deep. New clothes and good food and kind friends didn’t actually undo Adora’s upbringing. There’s a part of Glimmer that knows she’s avoided learning more about Adora’s past. She hadn’t wanted to hear the good stories, hadn’t wanted to believe Horde soldiers built families and believed in their cause and fell in love with each other. And, well… she hadn’t really wanted to hear the _bad_ stories, either. She loves Adora, loves her wholeheartedly and without reservation, and, well… didn’t really want to think about horrible things happening to her when she was a kid.

Does that make her a bad friend? She’s pretty sure that makes her a bad friend. 

“I guess we can just vanish and let the ships that are following us come to their own conclusions,” Bow muses, drawing Glimmer out of her swirl of guilty thoughts. Adora opens her mouth to say something, but Entrapta’s voice bursts excitedly from the comm speakers in the multiroom.

_“Who wants to see some alien spaceships??”_ Before anybody can react, a series of holograms appear over the table, five ships spaced evenly across the surface in magenta wireframe. 

“That one is a Prime ship,” Catra says quickly, pointing at a small, sharply pointed craft.

“That’s a troop carrier,” Hordak says quickly, the first thing he’s said the entire meal. “That’s not typically a ship that would be used for long-distance space travel. The troop carriers are brought by bigger ships and then released onto a planet.”

“They’re the ships that were all around the big Prime drill, right?” Glimmer asks. She remembers the shape of them from when she went looking for Entrapta, that first morning after the final battle.

“Correct,” Hordak confirms. “You _could_ use it as a vessel capable of interstellar travel, but it would be inconvenient. This would not be a first choice, if there were other options available.” 

“Are any of these other ones Horde ships?” Adora prompts, scrutinizing the other four. 

“This one seems to have pieces of our - “ Hordak chokes on the word, “ - of _Prime’s_ technology integrated into it.” He gestures at a medium sized craft at the end of the table. “It is a hodgepodge, though. Something assembled by scavengers, if I were to venture a guess.” 

“What about this really big one?” Bow asks, indicating the one in the middle of the table with wide swooping wing shapes and a heavy underbelly. 

“Some sort of cargo transport, at least originally,” Hordak answers. He scratches his chin, and Glimmer eyes him suspiciously. He’s being _unusually_ helpful and cooperative today, for some reason. “I would have to see Entrapta’s readings to get a better idea of whether it’s been retrofitted for some other purpose. Smugglers, perhaps, checking to see if we are easy prey. I would be less concerned about that one and more concerned about this one.” He splays his claws underneath the hologram between the big one and the troop carrier, a middling-sized ship with sleek militaristic lines and clearly visible turrets. “That is a mercenary ship. There are any number of mercenary bands scattered across the galaxy, taking money from planetary governments to attack and defend in place of a proper standing army. The intelligent ones never took on contracts that would put them at odds with Horde Prime, and would break contracts and run if he showed up in the systems they were supposed to be protecting. Now that word is spreading of his defeat… I suspect they will be bolder.”

“And this last one?” Glimmer asks, pointing to a small ship on the opposite end from the ‘hodgepodge’ one. 

“That, I am less certain about. It does not resemble anything I can recall clashing with in past battles, or seeing flee as part of a mercenary group. Perhaps a scouting vessel of some sort, although on behalf of which faction, it is… difficult to guess.” 

“Why are you being so helpful?” The sharp, accusatory words are out of Glimmer’s mouth before she can stop them. Maybe she’s just especially angry at Hordak after getting a peek into what growing up in the Fright Zone was like, but something about the way he’s offering up all this information without his usual grumping and huffing about it is putting her on edge. Hordak glowers at her, and the familiar expression of rage is somehow easier to deal with.

“That is why I am _here,_ is it not? To be useful. To provide information. To - to _make amends.”_ Across the table, Catra snorts and rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. Glimmer expects Hordak to react to Catra’s dismissive noise with his usual snarling, maybe even to storm out and hide in his room like he’s been doing lately, but to her surprise he only averts his gaze, clenching his jaw and looking back at the ships, saying nothing. 

“Entrapta, just how close are these ships now?” Bow asks, cutting through the weird tension. 

“Oh, much closer than before. They’re staying at a certain range, like they don’t expect us to be able to detect them from that distance, and they’re keeping apart from each other, too, but they’re all very much closing in.” 

_“Closing in?”_ Adora repeats, the tiniest little frantic hitch entering her voice. “Okay, I’m with Glimmer. If we’re not going to fight them, we should just go invisible and get out of here and let them wonder what happened.”

“Finally,” Glimmer says, even though it’s barely been more than twenty-four hours since they shut down the main power. 

“That’s fine by me!” Entrapta chirps across the comm. 

“Sure, I guess,” Bow says, his attention on the ship wireframes, looking at each of them carefully. “If there isn’t a convenient way to disguise our vanishing, we should probably get out of here before they get close enough to get a visual on us and actually see our cloaking capabilities instead of just guess at them from long-range data. Melog, you ready?” The magical beast makes a noise, and Catra nods a simple translation.

“Let’s go to the bridge, then,” Adora says, standing up from the table. By some unspoken agreement, they all leave their dirty dishes on the table. Nobody wants to wash them by hand, Glimmer realizes, vindicated. Might as well just wait until after they get their power back and let the washing bot do it for them. 

“Ready,” Glimmer says, settling into her seat onto the bridge. Around her, everybody follows her lead one by one, calling out _ready_ as they sit. It gives her a little thrill. She still feels like a pretender, somehow, whenever people unthinkingly let her lead the way. At least in this moment, it feels nice, like she’s part of something, part of this team. 

“Ready.” Adora is the final piece of the puzzle. “Melog, if you will?” Ah, and there it is, that uncomfortable scraping feeling in her chest when Adora just assumes control. She’s been raised for it her entire life, Glimmer is coming to understand, but it’s an old sore spot, that back and forth between trusting and respecting her capable friend and chafing at the way she doesn’t even think about letting other people take the reins. Newer is the feeling that she ought to just yield completely to Adora’s expertise and practiced leadership, that she’s already proved she’s a terrible leader with bad judgement and so it doesn’t make sense to deny Adora this role that she’s so clearly made for in a way the Glimmer just isn’t. Ugh. She wishes she had someone on board to talk to about this. Bow is good at listening and at friends-feelings stuff, but talking about her screwups with him is… hard, and painful, and sometimes not always productive in the way she’d like. She looks around the bridge, and her eyes settle on Wrong Hordak, smiling idly. Hm. Maybe - ? 

Golden motes explode outwards around them, filling Glimmer’s body with the comforting tingle of magic. She watches as her own hands melt away, translucent and then transparent, and the ship around her does the same. 

“Punch it, Entrapta!” Adora’s disembodied voice calls, and Entrapta releases a wild scream of delight over the comms as they are all hurled forward into the stars with no sense of physical self but the press of their bodies against the backs of their seats.


	26. Denebria

**Wrong Hordak**

Although he cannot quite articulate why, the traveler finds the second half of their journey feels different from the first. There is a marked change in his crewmates’ behaviour at the two week point, a gentle but noticeable pivot that happens after the call with the Galactic Rebellion siblings. On the surface level, once they’ve eluded the ships on their tail and rerouted successfully, all seems to have returned to the state it was in before. 

In the mornings he has the engine room to himself; he uses the time to perform the mindfulness routines that Brother Perfuma taught him, and then to peruse the ship’s many logs to educate himself on whatever subject has captured his interest that day. At lunch he cooks, and oftentimes he is kept company during this task by one of his Etherian brothers. In the afternoons, the corridors of their small vessel are filled with the sounds of either the lute or the violin, depending on which Brother Bow has chosen to pursue for the day. Once Brother Entrapta and Hordak are awake, they join him in the engine room, and he shifts his attention to learning what he can from Entrapta as she works on a seemingly endless variety of projects. After dinner, the crew assembles in the multiroom to discuss plans for the mission ahead, and then adjourns for evening socializing. This is all the same as it was the first two weeks. 

There are differences, however. During the afternoons, there is less idle chatter floating down the halls while he cooks lunch. The Etherians seem more introspective, and less carefree. Another change to his lunch cooking routine is the variety of people who come to visit and socialize while he prepares the meal. Before, it was primarily Brother Bow and (a sleepy, just-awoken) Brother Entrapta who would wander into the kitchen to converse. Since the evasive feint, he has seen significantly more of Brother Glimmer, who sometimes speaks at length about her struggles with interpersonal conflict. He is happy to listen, of course, and provide the soothing experience of sharing one’s thought process across multiple minds in concert - a possibility he does still miss, even if he relishes his personal freedom - although there is little he can offer her in terms of suggestions or insight. Still, she seems to enjoy these conversations, because she smiles at him more now in social settings. 

There is another notable difference: Hordak. He does not come to speak with the traveler in the kitchen, no - that would be a rather significant change - but he seems… calmer? No, that seems inaccurate. He is less apt to snarl and rage and have piques of fury, but he does not seem at peace by any definition. In the engine room he is sullen and distracted, less engaged with Brother Entrapta’s work. Were he any other clone, the traveler would make a point to reach out to him, to offer to help him process what is clearly a large mental load. He has learned now that Hordak does not want that, does not consider the traveler his brother. So he leaves Hordak alone.

The time passes well enough, although these slight changes in the atmosphere of the ship reflect an increased tension as they approach their destination. It is slightly less comfortable, like stepping out of his personally regulated bedroom and into the denser air of the Etherian-friendly common areas of the ship. He does not suffer overmuch, even if it is not an ideal environment. Perhaps after they reach Denebria, things will return to the way they were, and everybody will start smiling more again. 

  
  


**Bow**

“And there it is,” he breathes, as the blue-grey dot becomes visible through the front viewport of the bridge, “Denebria.” 

“Initial readings confirm our intel from the Star Siblings,” Entrapta says, speaking via comm from the engine room. “No energy signatures on or near the planet. We’re the only ones here, it looks like, although we’ll have to get closer to confirm.”

“Bring us in, Darla.” Adora’s face is settled into placid determination as she gives the order, looking bright-eyed and ready for anything. You can really see the soldier in her when she’s in this kind of environment, when the adrenaline right before a mission kicks in and momentarily overwrites her insecurities and doubts. Her back is straight, her shoulders loose but ready - it’s like a sparring stance, even though she’s sitting at a console. Bow catches Catra looking at Adora, too, and wonders what’s running through her head at the sight.

“Scans confirm a number of structures consistent with a once-populated planet,” Entrapta narrates, as the dot in space grows steadily bigger in their windshield. “Still no signs of life. Come on, Darla baby, get us a little closer.” They approach the planet cautiously. The conclusion of last night’s strategy meeting had been that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to assume Prime would set up automated defenses for his backup server, something that wouldn’t be knocked out if his flagship network went dark. Closer, closer, but nothing happens. Maybe the Star Siblings were right - maybe this isn’t a planet so much as the lifeless skeleton of one, left to hang dead in space as a warning to those who might oppose Prime. 

“Still nothing?” Catra asks tersely, as they draw ever nearer. 

“No energy readings, no life readings,” Entrapta confirms. 

“Okay,” Adora exhales, and then straightens up again in her chair. “Let’s do the low sweep, like we talked about. Got that, Darla?” 

“Initiating atmospheric entry and orbital scanning mode,” the computer says, and the planet comes closer and closer, expanding from the size of Bow’s fist until it takes up the entire view from the bridge. It’s somehow surreal; he’s spent long enough seeing nothing but empty space through these windows the last month that it doesn’t seem like there should ever be anything there but stars on an inky black background. He holds tight to the arms of his seat as Darla breaches the atmosphere, the ship jostling stubbornly against the new forces of gravity and friction, fighting to slow its momentum. 

“These atmospheric readings are _fascinating,”_ Entrapta remarks, after the ship levels out and begins to cruise at altitude around the barren, steely surface of Denebria. “If only I could have been here to record what happened to this planet. All life extinguished suddenly and instantaneously must have had an unimaginable chain reaction. Without the bacteria content in the soil, decomposition would have all but stopped. Without the trees, there would have been intense droughts followed by massive flooding, and the changes to the water cycle would have been the _least_ of it. This is the kind of ripple effect that could lead to a change in the _plate tectonics_ of the planet itself.” Everybody on the bridge seems content to let Entrapta think out loud as they look at the surface of Denebria rushing past their eyes. Bow is pulled in two directions, distracted from the urgency of their search for the server by his grief for the life of this planet. They were hundreds of years too late to save these people, but he still feels guilty that Etheria is alive and flourishing when so many other planets will never be again. “We should probably keep our helmets on while we’re down there,” Entrapta continues, “since it looks like the base carbon monoxide content of the atmosphere is at a level none of our species can tolerate.” She lets out a sudden, giddy whoop of excitement. “Melog finally has a reason to wear the suit I made them!!” 

“Are we picking up anything yet?” Bow asks, unsure if Entrapta talking about a surface landing means she’s found something and just forgot to say that explicitly in her excitement. 

“Still no energy readings, but our sonar scans have picked up a big hollow area hidden below the surface, suggesting a large underground structure.” 

“That must be it,” Glimmer says, jolting upright in her chair. “Prime is into big, dramatic, open architecture. He may be smart enough to hide the server underground but he wouldn’t have been able to resist making the vault as ostentatious as possible.” 

“Don’t get too excited,” Bow cautions. “It might not be on this planet at all. It could be a natural cave system, or something left over from when this was a populated planet.” 

“Either way,” Adora says, “we need to check it out before we can cross it off the list. Darla? Bring us down to wherever the entrance to that vault is.” 

  
  


**Catra**

She will never admit this out loud to anybody, but Ceweldan’s helmet is absolutely adorable. She’s still not entirely convinced they need it, what with being a creature of almost pure magic, but when Entrapta appeared excitedly in the airlock with the custom-made protective equipment in her grip and an enormous grin on her face Cewelden had purred happily at the attention and consideration and allowed Entrapta to zip them up into it without any protest. 

The undeniable appeal of helmet ears notwithstanding, it’s good to finally be _doing_ something. The last two weeks of travel haven’t exactly been relaxing. It would be nice if they could climb down into this underground vault and find the server and break it into tiny pieces and finally close the book on this whole Prime ordeal, but somehow she doubts it’ll be that easy. In what universe has she ever had the kind of good luck where the first thing she tries is the right one? 

“Well, I guess this must be the entrance.” Bow is looking at a tracker pad and standing below the steel skeleton of an old building. It feels like it should have wild overgrowth on it, or the scratching sounds of various vermin making its abandoned depths their own. But there’s nothing, and that makes it much, much creepier. Prime didn’t just destroy the people who were living here. There’s nothing alive left that could reclaim the ruins. She shudders, puts a hand to the back of her neck without meaning to. A glance over at Adora shows a worried expression through the faceplate of her helmet, a hand extended towards Catra but not touching her. Good. If Adora had touched her suddenly without warning just then, she’d have jumped about thirty feet. 

“I’m fine,” she tells Adora quietly, forcing herself to put her arm at her side. She’s fine. They have a mission to do. 

“You could stay on the ship,” Adora suggests. 

“And leave you guys to handle this without me? I don’t think so.” Her bravado is all show, of course, and there’s no bite in the words. It doesn’t change that concerned look on Adora’s face. She takes a deep breath in, and then puts a hand on Adora’s shoulder. “I’m not letting you face whatever’s down there alone. And if Prime’s mind _is_ down there, well. I’ve got a personal score to settle with him.”

“If you’re sure,” Adora says, putting her on hand on top of Catra’s and squeezing. They pull apart and walk doubletime to catch up to the others. Catra’s done with letting Adora run off on her own. If she wants to do stupid reckless things, she’ll do them with Catra watching her back, like they used to. Like it was always supposed to be. 

“I think this is the way down, but the hatch is rusted shut,” Bow says, rapping his knuckles against a huge metal trapdoor. Catra steps forward, and is unsheathing her claws when - 

“For the honor of Grayskull!” The ruins light up with golden glow. Adora lifts into the air, spreads her arms, tilts her head back. Catra feels like she should be cranky, to be upstaged yet again by Adora, but she can’t bring herself to feel anything but affection for this big - now very big - dork. Watching her become She-Ra doesn’t hurt like she’d always expected it to. It makes her feel safe. It makes her feel special. Catra doesn’t need to brag to these people that _she’s_ the one Adora summons She-Ra for, because they all know. And yes, of course she’s smiling when the familiar shape of her mask manifests across Adora’s face from temple to temple. She doesn’t have to wonder what that means anymore. She knows. 

“One of these days you _have_ to let me run some tests on your respiratory system when you’re transformed as She-Ra,” Entrapta says, scrutinizing her lack of helmet with open curiosity. Adora chuckles at her - Catra doesn’t think of her as She-Ra when she’s like this, never has - and walks to the closed hatch. She could cleave it open with that magic sword, no problem, but instead she hooks her fingers around the bulky edge of the door, lowers herself into a squat, and then _hauls._ It’s really not unreasonable of Catra to wonder if Adora is doing this to show off, to perform for Catra and demonstrate that incredible physical strength of hers. Those tight pants certainly show off the flex of her leg muscles as she uses them to wrench loose the seized door, clearing the way with a grunt and then a great metallic thud. She’s not even breathing heavily when she’s done. Catra stares. Adora grins over her shoulder at the group, catches Catra looking, and _blushes._ Oh, Catra loves her. She loves her, she loves her. 

“Come on,” Adora says, after clearing her throat nervously and tearing her eyes away from Catra. They head down as a group into the darkness below, clicking on their helmet lights to reveal a long, industrial looking staircase. It reminds her more of Fright Zone architecture than anything on Prime’s ship, but maybe he just made use of the buildings that were already here instead of making something new in his own style. But then, thinking of the fondness he has for jamming his communication spires all over planets he conquers, that doesn’t seem like his style. The evidence is ticking up against this being the location for the server, but Catra doesn’t bother voicing the concern; Adora is right that they need to check it out anyways, to be sure. 

“You just gonna stay like that?” She asks Adora, teasing her to distract herself from the eerie emptiness of this planet. 

“I might as well.” Adora sounds embarrassed, defensive, shy. Catra wonders what it feels like, to be She-Ra. Does she feel safer like this? Is it tiring to maintain? 

“Just don’t hit your head on any low hanging beams,” she taunts, strutting past her so that she can brush her tail across one of Adora’s impressive forearms. Behind her, Adora splutters. Yes, this is a wonderful distraction from how much this place gives her the creeps. 

They travel down, down, down, walking mostly in strained silence, and then reach another set of doors. 

“Looks like an elevator,” Bow muses. “What do you think the odds are it still works?”

“Twenty-three percent,” Entrapta answers cheerfully, ignoring the call buttons and ripping off a panel to gain access to the wiring without any preamble. “With a seventy one point two percent chance it’ll stop working halfway down the shaft and kill us all.” She tugs loose some wires and plugs them into her data pad, pulling up schematics. “Oh, this is _fun._ Denebrian technology really didn’t waste time with redundancies or safety measures. It’s like being back in the Fright Zone!” 

“It is not my fault I had no formal training as an engineer,” Hordak says, with an even tone that makes it sound like this is a conversation the two of them have had a dozen times. Entrapta doesn’t even acknowledge him, focused as she is on studying the schematics of the elevator shaft and presumably trying to determine its usefulness to them. 

“Well, the bad news is that there’s no way this thing is working without some kind of big external power source. We could run a cable down here from Darla and power it that way, but it would take a couple hours of work to get it all set up again.”

“What’s the good news?” Catra asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She does _not_ like the idea of getting into a thousand year old metal box and just hoping it doesn’t kill her.

“The good news is that the elevator car is currently above us, which means the shaft is totally clear. I’ve got a prototype of a simple winch back on Darla we can use to lower us down one by one. It’ll take a while, but not as long as trying to get the elevator operational again.”

“Just how far down does this elevator go, exactly?” Bow asks, looking over Entrapta’s shoulder at the schematics. 

“Just shy of seven thousand feet,” Entrapta says, tapping the screen. “When the elevator was working it would have taken about three minutes to go all the way down. With the winch, we could probably safely do five minutes per person.” 

“Thaaaaat is a very long drop,” Bow says, sounding as nauseated as Catra feels. 

“I could just teleport us down if I had my magic,” Glimmer says, clearly frustrated. 

“This seems like a terrible idea,” Catra says, backing herself up against a wall, as if somehow the others might see the fur on the back of her neck prickling through the visor of her helmet. 

“Anybody got any other suggestions?” Bow tries. There is silence. Adora taps the sword a couple times against her calf - nervous fidgeting that is very much Adora and not She-Ra - and then goes to the elevator doors and peels them apart with some effort. Catra takes the opportunity to admire the ripple of her back and shoulder muscles as she works. Might as well enjoy the show if it’s right there in front of her, right? 

“Careful,” Glimmer squeaks, when Adora holds the door frame with one hand and then leans out into the darkness of the elevator shaft, staring down, down, down. 

“See anything?” Bow asks. 

“It’s a long way down,” is the breathless answer. Catra resists the urge to say something like _no duh, genius_ \- she’s been working on cutting back on that kind of stuff, even if she doesn’t always catch it in time before it’s out of her mouth. It isn’t helpful, or even very funny. There’s a line between playful banter and hurtful prodding and it’s one she’s _determined_ to figure out. She hates the thought of being someone like Shadow Weaver, incapable of saying anything that isn’t some kind of barb or put-down, and it’s been on her mind more since she and Adora had that conversation about the bots. 

“Well,” Bow sighs, “I guess we’d better walk back to the ship to get the winch.” 

“I will fetch the device for Entrapta,” Hordak volunteers suddenly. Catra snaps a suspicious stare over at him. 

“And let you get behind the controls of the ship and steal it, abandoning us on a dead planet? As _if._ I’m not letting you go back there unsupervised.” She pushes herself off from the wall, straightens up. “I’ll go with you.” Hordak curls his lip at her distastefully, but doesn’t try to stop her. The only other explanation she can think of for his eagerness to do the menial chore is that he’s in some sort of weird competition with Wrong Hordak for Entrapta’s approval. Wrong Hordak seems mostly oblivious to it, but Hordak isn’t exactly subtle about his constant attempts to prove he’s smarter and more capable than his fellow clone. It comes out really badly on board game nights in particular. Maybe this is just an extension of that, but she doesn’t trust it. 

“Very well,” he grumbles, after a pause, and then strikes out back up the stairwell. Catra sends one last glance at the group, wondering if she ought to be leaving them here, wondering if she should take someone else with her as backup in case something goes wrong. No - she erases that flicker of doubt with a forceful shove. She took Hordak out at his peak when he had a laser cannon strapped to his arm. She can handle this pathetic mess of a man that used to be the mighty ruler of the Horde, no problem. 

“We’ll be on the long-range radio comms if you need us,” Bow reminds her, tapping his helmet, perhaps sensing her unease. She breathes out a little sigh, and nods. 

“Got it,” she says, and paces after Hordak. She tries not to be too relieved when Cewelden joins her a moment later, walking close enough to brush her legs with their mane. It tingles of magic. She grins at herself, laughing internally at her own hypocrisy. So much for her lecture about Adora needing to trust her teammates more. It’s… nice, though, feeling like she’s got people in her corner. “Come on, soldier,” she says smugly to Hordak, unable to resist, “march.” 

As soon as they’re far enough away from the group that their conversation won’t be picked up on the local comm range, Hordak clears his throat like he’s going to try to talk to her. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Catra says immediately, sharpening her tone to a cold neutrality. 

“I have not said anything - “ Hordak says, with a strangled snarl.

“Keep it that way. Whatever shit you’re about to say, just don’t. I don’t want to hear a sanctimonious speech about how you’re still pissed that I sent Entrapta to die, or how I should forgive you for whatever because you were raised by Prime and just following orders.” She’s walking behind Hordak so she can keep an eye on him, so she doesn’t see whatever his face does in reaction to this, but at least he stops talking. He’s stopped, but Catra feels like she’s just getting started, like the dam is threatening to burst. She can feel anger building inside of her chest, hot and delirious. That’s the problem with rage - it feels so _good_ to let it out, to indulge in it. It makes her feel like she’s righteous, when she’s angry, like the emotion itself validates the logic behind it. Ceweldan’s mane turns red and spikey, their ears go flat, and a growl rumbles in their throat. 

No. No, she’s not doing this. She can control herself. She can get back to calm. Calm. Think calm thoughts. Think about things other than the slew of injuries Hordak has personally inflicted on her, don’t slip and imagine how good it would feel to shout at him, finally, to slam him against a wall, rip a hole in his suit, watch him suffocate and ask him how it _feels._

Ceweldan’s growl is getting louder, loud enough that Hordak hears it and whips around, arms raised defensively. The fear in his eyes should be a boost to Catra’s ego, but instead it just makes her feel ashamed. She’d thought she was better than this, that she’d been making progress. 

“Keep walking,” she snaps, and to her relief he does without argument, although with clear stiffness in his gait, like he’s waiting for her to strike. It takes a while, but she manages to get her breathing to slow, her thoughts to stop circling like sharks. Eventually, Ceweldan’s aura returns to a steady blue. 

Hordak doesn’t make another attempt to start a conversation.


	27. Up and Down

**Glimmer**

Going down the elevator shaft is just as awful as she’d expected it to be. No, no. It’s worse. It’s one thing, conceptually, to be told that you’re going to be strapped into a waist harness, clipped to a rope, and then lowered into a pitch black elevator shaft at high speeds. It is _entirely_ another to actually experience. Adora goes first, because as She-Ra she’s best equipped to deal with any surprise security system that may be waiting down there for them. Hordak, at Catra’s insistence, goes second. Entrapta and Wrong Hordak are staying at the top to manage the winch, so Glimmer volunteers to go third because she just _wants to get it over with._

That doesn’t stop her from screaming at the top of her lungs when Entrapta fucking _drops_ her. She’d described the speed as “a controlled high-speed descent”, but this is absolutely, one hundred percent just fucking falling. The team yelp in protest back into her helmet at having this terrified explosion of sound piped directly to their ears, yelling at her to shut off her comm if she’s just going to scream the entire way down. Clutching the rope tightly even though it’s secured to her by the hip harness, she manages to bring down the intensity of her fear from a ten to a seven and get the screaming under control. Once the speed evens out and she isn’t feeling the force of acceleration, it all seems a little less horrible (but still very horrible). She sure wishes those magical reagents her dad gave her could be used for teleportation. This would all be much, much simpler if she could just use her damn powers. 

“Doing alright there, Sparkles?” Catra says through her helmet comm. 

“Oh! Yeah! Sure!” She answers shrilly. “I’m just - haha! You know! _Plunging down into a black pit at top speed with only a rope keeping me alive!”_

“Oh, this isn’t top speed,” Entrapta says, “Did you want to go faster?”

“No _thank_ you, Entrapta!” She shrieks. 

“Okay, calm down,” Bow instructs, “take deep breaths. You’re fine. Adora and Hordak got down okay. It’ll slow down as you get closer to the bottom.”

“It damn well better!!” Ugh, and the harness is already digging uncomfortably into her thighs. This is really not how she expected to spend her afternoon. Once the initial terror fades, there’s just discomfort and boredom and darkness; she switches her helmet light off because seeing the illuminated walls of the elevator shaft rushing by is just making her dizzy. Three minutes doesn’t sound like a lot of time, but when you’re dangling from a rope with a harness cutting off the circulation to your legs it feels like a damn eternity. “How much farther now?”

“You’re about twenty percent of the way down,” Entrapta says. Glimmer groans in frustration. 

“Somebody say something to distract me, please,” she whines into the comm, squeezing her eyes shut. “Tell a story, or, or a joke, or sing a song or something, anything.” 

“Oh!” Wrong Hordak chirps excitedly in her ear, “I know a joke!” Oh boy. Okay. 

“Please tell me your joke, Wrong Hordak,” she says, desperate for anything else to think about. 

“What is brown…” he pauses for dramatic emphasis, “...and _sticky…_ all over?” Glimmer can think of an answer. It’s a word she’s desperately trying not to shout repeatedly at the moment. 

“I don’t know, Wrong Hordak,” Bow prompts gamely, “what?” She can _hear_ Bow suppressing a snicker at her. She is going to kill him. 

“A stick!” Wrong Hordak blurts the answer with such unblemished, innocent glee that Glimmer actually _laughs._ Catra snorts, Bow giggles, Entrapta doesn’t seem to get the joke or else is distracted, and Hordak grunts disapprovingly. Adora, being She-Ra, has no helmet and cannot hear them, which was maybe an oversight on their part in sending her down first.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got a joke,” Bow says, and he sounds so excited to tell it that Glimmer gives a pre-emptive groan just for good measure. “So, a string walks into a bar. And the bartender says, hey! Get out of here! We don’t serve your kind here! So the string walks back outside, and he ties himself up, and he ruffles up his ends a little, and then goes back into the bar. And the bartender looks at him and says, hey! Are you a string?? And he says, _nope!_ I’m a frayed knot.” Yes, Glimmer was right to groan. Of course _Bow_ would pull out a pun about a _string._ It takes a second, but once Wrong Hordak gets the joke - 

“Oh! I’m afraid not! I’m a frayed knot! They sound the same, but have very different meanings! Aha! Ahaha!” Glimmer smiles, glad at least somebody got some joy from that awful, awful joke. 

“Was that a Lance joke or a George joke?” She teases, trying to ignore the bite of the harness. She must be getting close by now, right? 

“Oh, definitely a George joke. I’m surprised you can’t tell the difference, George always favors the pun-based ones.” 

“All your jokes are terrible,” Catra drawls. 

“Oh yeah? You tell one then,” Glimmer challenges, putting a little smirk into her voice. Adora isn’t on the line to stop her and Catra from egging each other on, for once. Seems like as good a distraction as any. 

“Sure you can handle it, Your Majesty? Wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” 

“Uh, maybe don’t tell any _offensive_ or _hurtful_ jokes,” Bow cautions.

“I know jokes that aren’t just insults,” Catra retorts, something in her tone making Glimmer picture her pulling a face at Bow while possibly making a rude gesture. “Although, actually, now that I’m thinking about it all the jokes I know have princesses as the punchline. Huh.” 

“Maybe no more jokes,” Bow says, with a slightly more frenzied sounding pitch. “I could tell a story instead?” 

“Tell us an embarrassing childhood story about Glimmer,” Catra suggests _immediately,_ and Glimmer’s eyes snap open even though there’s nothing to see as she continues on downwards through darkness. 

“Absolutely not, you’re supposed to be comforting _me!”_

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Catra taunts idly. “Okay, what if I tell an embarrassing childhood story about Adora, instead?” 

“Yes!” Glimmer exclaims. With Adora disconnected from the comm line, this is the perfect opportunity to get more delicious gossip about what kind of person she was as a kid. 

“Okay, so, this one time, this kid came into the creche who’d been picked up after a battle, one who’d been living… I dunno, somewhere or other, before the Horde. And she had _all_ sorts of cool stories about the world outside the Fright Zone. And this one story she told had a swing in it, and me’n Adora, we’d never heard of a swing before. Once she explained what it was and how much fun it was, well, Adora decides she’s _got_ to have one. So she manages to steal a rope from our survival training one day, and we find this perfect hidden spot with a bunch of sturdy pipes we can tie it to. We don’t have anything to use as a seat, but Adora’s too impatient to wait until we find some kind of flat piece of metal we can use, she wants to know what it’s like to have a swing _now.”_ Glimmer’s eyes fall closed again and a grin spreads across her face as she tries to imagine the two, a pair of tiny miscreants finding whatever fun they can in the unfriendly halls of the Fright Zone. Catra’s a surprisingly good storyteller. 

“So instead of a seat, she decides she can use the knots we learned that day in survival training, and then make a loop we can put our feet in, and then swing that way. So she - “ Catra’s laughing now at the memory, cracking up as she struggles to tell the story - “She ties the rope to this pipe, and makes her little foot loop at the bottom, but the pipe is pretty wide and uses up more rope than she expected, so the swing is a lot higher off the ground and she needs a boost up to get her foot on it. So I boost her up, and she puts her foot in the loop, and _immediately_ the knot slides, because of _course_ that was never going to work the way us idiot kids thought it would, and she - “ Catra is cackling, wheezing through her laughter, - “She falls backwards like a fish, her foot caught in the lasso that _she_ tied, and just - flops - “ Glimmer is laughing now too, caught up in Catra’s helpless giggling and gasping for breath at the thought of Adora _accidentally tying herself to a pipe_ \- “Flops on top of me, and I’m just - just _laughing_ \- and I pull myself out from under her and she’s lying on the ground with one foot up in the air - tied - tied - “ she can hardly speak from laughing so hard, “Tied to a _steam pipe!_ And she was _so sure_ that her swing would work, she’s just lying there with - with one foot up, looking totally shocked and betrayed, and I just about _peed_ myself laughing. I let her hang out like that for at least five minutes, because it was so unbelievably funny, if you only could have seen her _face!_ Just, full of tiny fury! Just all, _Catra, help meeeee!_ ” Glimmer can hear Bow laughing too, and the three of them lose it for a solid span of several seconds. 

Glimmer is still blinking mirthful tears from her eyes when the descent slows down and a light comes into view somewhere beyond her feet. She clicks her helmet light back on and to her relief there’s Adora and Hordak. As her light shines over their faces, she thinks for just a moment she catches Hordak with a strained grin, like he’s… trying not to laugh. 

“Glimmer, are you okay??” Adora says, rushing to unhook her from the harness as her feet gently come to rest on the ground. “You’ve been crying!” Glimmer allows Adora to wrap her big She-Ra arms around her and hold her tight, praying Adora doesn’t realize that her shaking is just another giggle fit bubbling up inside of her. 

  
  


**Adora**

“I can’t believe you told them that story,” Adora grumbles, blushing brightly. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“Yeah, a secret we were keeping from Shadow Weaver. You never said I couldn’t tell a bunch of rebel princesses,” is Catra’s glib retort. 

“Technically, only two of the people here are - “ Bow doesn’t finish his sentence, because it’s at that moment that Glimmer gets the components for her light spell into the correct formation on the floor and the magic ignites, pooling into a ball of bright shimmering energy that rises up like a bubble and then bursts outwards, banishing the darkness in one great flash.

“Whoa,” Adora mutters, stepping away from the elevator shaft and into the cavernous bunker. 

“Whoa,” Catra echoes, coming to stand beside her. “This is… insane.”

“It’s a weapons cache,” Glimmer says, voice barely rising above a whisper. That is… an understatement. Adora’s never seen anything like it. Stacks and stacks of tanks, bots, skiffs, guns - she finds herself thinking of Bow’s dads’ library, except instead of books and scrolls, the shelves are populated by machines of war and scaled up to fit them all. 

“Prime destroyed all life on this planet because its leaders, sworn followers of Prime, were secretly preparing for war,” Hordak says. “They imagined themselves conquerors in their own right, wanted to overthrow Prime and start an empire of their own. Prime must have learned of this cache, must have understood what they intended to use it for.”

“But why leave it here?” Adora takes a step forward, then another. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous if some other group of rebels got their hands on it? Or did he assume nobody would bother coming to this planet because he’d made it impossible to live on?” 

“I think we can safely say Prime’s backup server isn’t here.” Catra’s abrupt change of subject tells Adora that Catra is feeling the same uncomfortable chill that she is. This place feels… bad. Like it’s full of the whispers of angry ghosts, the spaces between the tanks and guns teeming with the unfulfilled ambitions of conquest and treachery of its long-dead builders. She wants to leave. She wants to turn around and never see this again, this stockpile in preparation for another empire, another war, another tyrant. 

“We should be sure,” Adora says, fighting the feeling and forcing herself to take another step in. “We don’t want to come all this way and overlook something important.” 

“I’m not seeing any energy readings on my tracker pad,” Bow counters, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I hate to say it, but the server isn’t here. Just a bunch of dusty old tanks and bots.” 

“It’s alright,” Catra says gently, taking her hand in a quiet entreaty. “It was pretty slim odds we’d find it on the first planet we tried. That’s one off our list, though, and now we can focus on how we want to deal with Jantix II.” 

“And maybe this wasn’t a total waste,” Glimmer adds cheerfully, so out of place in this grim graveyard of ambition. “We can tell the Star Siblings about this stockpile. Maybe they can use some of this stuff to help the ongoing rebellions.”

“Yeah,” Adora muses, feeling a little better. “That’s a good idea, Glimmer.” It would be a fitting use for these weapons to wind up helping rebels trying to take back their homes. “Let’s - “ Suddenly they all get a look of surprise on their faces.

“Entrapta!” Hordak snarls, whipping his head around back to the elevator shaft. He makes a sudden rush towards the exit, and Adora doesn’t know what’s going on, isn’t sure if she should be trying to stop him.

“What’s happening??”

“Clones,” Catra says, surging back towards the elevator, dragging Adora along behind her by the hold they have on each other’s hands. “They have Entrapta. They’re threatening to throw her down the shaft if she doesn’t tell them where She-Ra is.” A pulse of fury thrums through Adora’s body. How dare they? How _dare_ they? 

“I’ve got this,” she snarls, releasing Catra’s hand and diving into the elevator shaft. Hordak is already ten feet up, climbing the sides while pulling himself up with the rope, desperate rage in every line of his body. There’s no time for that, and without Entrapta manning the winch, that rope isn’t safe to depend on. She takes a deep breath and cracks her knuckles. She can do this. She spent her entire childhood training for this by chasing Catra up and down every climbable surface in the Fright Zone. “I’m coming, Entrapta!” 

She _leaps,_ launching herself as high into the air as she can go, and then grabs hold of a wall to start climbing. She hauls herself up as fast she can, grabbing recklessly for handholds and letting her brain shut off and her body take over. She can’t afford to think right now; if she thinks, her mind will insist that what she’s attempting isn’t physically possible, that there’s no way a person can climb seven thousand feet straight up in one go without any equipment, let alone do it fast enough to save someone currently being dangled over the edge. There’s no time to worry about those details. This is what She-Ra is _for,_ this is what _magic_ is for. She climbs, settling into a steady rhythm, seeing by the glow of her own golden aura. She’s about a thousand feet up when Catra’s voice echoes up to her, pained and yelling as hard as she can. 

“Adora!! You have to turn around and get out! They’re trying to drop the elevator on you!” She feels the briefest flicker of confusion - how did Catra make her shout travel that far with her helmet on - and then what Catra said clicks. She cranes her head up, but she can’t see anything, can’t hear anything. There’s no time. She’s not turning back now, not abandoning Entrapta again. 

“I’ve got this,” she yells back down the shaft. “Don’t try to follow me!” She just has to be _faster._ She-Ra can do that, right? She grits her teeth and picks up the pace, throwing all her strength and agility into the climb. Up, up, up, and if her muscles are getting tired she can’t feel it, can’t allow herself to feel it, can’t allow herself to slow down. From above, a scream. “Entrapta!!” She roars, a fresh pulse of desperate magic throbbing in her chest and filling her with energy as she cranes her head up to try to see what’s going on. There - Entrapta is falling towards her, coming closer every second, no time to think just _act -_ Adora grabs as tightly as she can onto the edge of a metal panel, braces herself with her legs against the wall, and then reaches out as far as she can. A purple blur, a desperate grab, and she’s got a fistful of Entrapta’s hair, has to clench her whole body to stay attached to the side of the wall, to not be pulled loose by the sudden jerk of catching all of Entrapta’s weight. “I’ve got you,” Adora gasps, “I’ve got you!” 

“There’s no time!!” Entrapta shouts, tears in her eyes and the edge of true fear in her voice after the fall. “They’ve got plasma cutters, they’re cutting all the elevator supports. They’re going to crush us with it!” 

“Grab on to my back and don’t let go,” Adora instructs firmly, putting sharp command into her voice to make sure it gets through the fog of Entrapta’s terror. Using her hair, Entrapta pulls herself up level with Adora, clings to her torso with arms and legs and hair like a quivering, panting backpack. “Okay. Hold on.” She takes a breath, and then launches herself off the wall in an explosive movement, leaping up and across the shaft to the opposite wall, and then pushes off of that one. She scales another thousand, two thousand, three thousand feet in what feels like moments, refusing to think about the drop below, about the death that waits if she misses a foothold or fumbles a jump. It’s too late to turn back. Either she gets to the top or she and Entrapta both die here, and that just isn’t an option. The end is in sight, and she can hear the zap and crackle of the cutters. As much to startle the clones into losing focus as to rally for the final push, she fills her lungs and then expels a wordless battle cry. She can hear voices, feet scrambling on metal. The silhouette of a clone appears against the dim light of the top. 

“You will not stop us, She-Ra!” He bellows giddily down at her. She’s still several hundred feet away, but she’s almost there, she can _make_ it. “Horde Prime shall reign eternal!” His head vanishes again from the entrance, and there’s a great, horrible groan of machinery from above. She can hear cables snapping.

“Entrapta,” she gasps, pausing her climb. They’re not going to make it. “I need you to stabilize us against the wall, okay, so I can use both my hands. Can you do that?” Entrapta gives a little whimper, tightens her limbs around Adora once, and then nods. Her arms and legs stay tight but her hair uncoils, seeking holds to hang off of and brace against. Adora can see the elevator car now above them; the whole thing shudders, then starts to slide. She needs her hands to wield the sword, but she’s afraid to let go of the wall and put all their weight on Entrapta’s hair. In a flash, Catra’s voice bubbles up from her memories. 

_Trust your team._

With a shriek of scraping metal, the elevator car starts to drop. Adora grits her teeth and takes her arms off the wall, summoning the sword back to her hands, letting Entrapta bear the burden of keeping them hanging from the wall. Heat burns against her palms as she readies the attack. This will work, she suddenly knows with calm certainty. This is how it was meant to be, trusting her friends and working together with them to keep the people she loves safe from harm. Wearing this newfound certainty like a cloak, her muscles relax, her body releases its vicelike tension, and the magic within her responds eagerly, flowing into the sword. She draws a wide glowing circle with the tip of the blade; as soon as the line connects and the shape closes, it fills out in a disk of energy. A decisive thrust sends it surging forward, rushing upwards to meet the crashing, lurching mechanical death coming their way. The magic blast catches it, pushes it back up, never losing momentum - it’s like watching a lobbed snowball being intercepted by a galloping horse. The elevator car is crushed up against the ceiling of the shaft, compressed so tightly in place that there’s no chance of it falling back down again. Adora breathes shakily, catching her breath before reclaiming her grip on the wall and turning to look at Entrapta over her shoulder. 

“We did it. We did it!!” Entrapta nods wordlessly, staring up at the crushed elevator car. “Come on. Let’s go show those clones what happens to people who mess with us,” she growls, returning to the climb with what’s left of her adrenaline rush. Fifty feet, thirty feet, ten feet away, and then finally they’re up and over the lip of the threshold and sprawling onto the floor. As much as she’s starting to ache, Adora rolls quickly to her feet, ready to fight, expecting them to be waiting. 

“They fled,” Wrong Hordak says breathlessly, from where he’s bound and lying on the floor. 

“Your helmet!” Entrapta exclaims, disentangling herself rapidly from Adora to rush over to Wrong Hordak and re-secure the helmet to his suit. 

“Thank you,” he says, and then coughs. “It has not been off for long enough that I sustained any permanent damage. But it was still very uncomfortable.”

“I’m going after them,” Adora snarls, adjusting her grip on the sword. 

“They did not go on foot,” Wrong Hordak clarifies, stopping her from charging up the stairs to the surface. “They had transporter technology to return them instantly to the ship. It is likely they are already out of reach.”

“The Prime tech troop carrier,” Entrapta says thoughtfully, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. “That must have been their ship. But how did they track us here? We lost all those other ships that were tailing us.”

“Could they be tracking the clones on board our ship? No, that doesn’t make sense. We had Wrong Hordak with us last time and Prime couldn’t use him to track us, just Catra’s chip.” She makes a noise of frustration, sends one last rage-filled glance up the empty stairwell, and then transforms back out of She-Ra. “They got away. Everybody’s fine on our end. What’s everybody’s status down there?”

“Adora, you _idiot,_ why did you keep going after I told you they were going to drop a fucking five ton industrial elevator car on your head??” Catra’s voice is frantic, furious, shaking. “I _know_ you heard me!” 

“I had it handled!” She snaps, instantly on the defensive. “Entrapta was in danger! If I hadn’t kept going she could have _died,_ Catra, I didn’t have a _choice.”_

“Look, guys, everybody is fine, okay?” Bow intercedes. “Can we all just get back up to the top and get out of here, and we can debrief on the ship?” 

“Fine,” Catra says, the word sharp and venomous in Adora’s ear. Ugh, that’s going to be a conversation and a half, once they’re back on the ship. Whatever. She’ll deal with it later. 

“Entrapta, is the winch still safe to use?”

“It looks like it hasn’t been damaged or tampered with, it should be fine.”

“Alright. Who’s first up?” 

“Me,” Glimmer says quickly, and Adora’s heart falls just a little that it isn’t Catra. In fact, Catra is completely silent for the rest of the process of getting back to the ship other than to mutter a confirmation that she’s safely in the harness. It’s a long, awkward walk back up the stairs to the surface.


	28. Debriefing

**Bow**

There hasn’t been this much uncomfortable tension in the multiroom since the night during the first week that Hordak called Wrong Hordak an embarrassment to their shared DNA for cheerfully trading Catra a resource on game night that allowed her to get ten victory points and win the game. It’s the first time since they left on this journey that Adora and Catra haven’t plunked themselves down hip to hip, and he’s pretty sure _everybody_ notices. 

“Okay,” he says, gripping his tracker pad uncomfortably as he sits down in the empty spot between Catra and Wrong Hordak, “we’re on route to the rendezvous point we agreed to with the Star Siblings. It’ll take us about a day to get there, and then another day to get to Jantix II. Hopefully they’ll be able to put us in touch with the local rebellion, and we can tell them about the weapons cache on Denebria. In the meantime - Entrapta, Wrong Hordak, what happened up there?” 

“I was studying the code language of the elevator controls - I was completely absorbed in the bizarre usage of quadruple brackets any time a modulo was called for, so I didn’t even hear them coming. They knew to restrain me by the hair, knew that we were there looking for the backup server.”

“They were from Etheria,” Wrong Hordak says, his characteristically cheerful face drawn and defeated. “I recognized them. They were a faction that believed we ought to be trying to aid Prime in his return to power, although I did not think they knew about the server, as this was not knowledge that I or any of my likeminded brothers had before Brother Entrapta discovered the data transfer history on the Velvet Glove.” 

“But they definitely know about the server, and that we’re looking for it?” Bow frowns. 

“They attempted to interrogate Brother Entrapta.” Across the table, Hordak snarls. Everybody ignores him. “They wanted to know where She-Ra was, and whether we had found the server. It seems they were as uncertain as we were regarding whether it was hidden on Denebria. When - when Entrapta would not give them the information they were looking for, they restrained me and removed my helmet, and - and forcibly accessed my memories via my axial data entry port.” 

“That’s bad,” Catra says, an edge of panic in her suddenly sharp tone. “If they had access to your memories, they know our full itinerary. They know we’re going to try to take out the Jantix local hivemind, they know they have allies there that they can contact and warn about us.” 

“No,” Wrong Hordak answers her, rubbing his temples in an uncharacteristically stressed out looking gesture, “their equipment was not - they were not working with the capacity for memory access that Prime would have had. Only _he_ had the ability, the right, to so easily rifle through his little brothers’ thoughts. The method they used was…” he looks sick. “Clumsy. They…they managed to expose the information that She-Ra was in a vault below, and that the server was not down there. They had just started looking for a memory that would tell them where our next destination was, when they heard She-Ra yell and realized she was approaching rapidly.” Wrong Hordak seems distinctly shaken. Bow offers him a supportive hand, and is glad he did when Wrong Hordak instantly takes it and grasps it between his two bigger hands. “They - they made the decision to do as much damage as possible to our crew, and then to flee. The server was their priority, and so once they learned it was not on Denebria, they had no reason to extend the confrontation.”

Just how bad of an experience had Wrong Hordak just been through? Had it hurt? Did he feel violated? Bow doesn’t have any direct experience with this sort of thing, but he knows someone who does. He sends a glance to his right side; Catra is frowning, a hand on the back of her neck. He’s pretty sure the motion isn’t a conscious one. Well. Good thing he has two hands. He extends the other one in an open gesture in Catra’s direction, giving her one flicker of eye contact and then letting her make the choice for herself without him watching her. There’s a heartbeat of nothing, and then he feels one of Catra’s hands slip into his. There. Good. He wraps his fingers gently but firmly around hers. If she’s upset with Adora right now and can’t get comfort from her, he’s happy to offer whatever quiet support he can. There is a moment when he wonders at the absurdity of the scene, sitting around a table in space with a Prime clone on his left and Catra on his right, holding both their hands. He doesn’t linger on it for too long; these are his _friends._ He needs them to know they don’t have to deal with this alone. 

“So, what does this mean for our plans?” He asks, trying not to be self-conscious about his impromptu role as emotional support marksman. “What changes? What actions do we need to take now?”

“Well, first we need to find out how the hell they tracked us.” Adora glowers as she says this.

“While we were underground, Darla recorded another ship entering Denebria’s atmosphere.” Entrapta slides her data pad onto the table and it projects the familiar wireframe of the Prime tech troop carrier. “It’s definitely the same vessel that was one of the five ships following us a week ago, but I’ve been scanning for anybody tailing us since then, and this is their first reappearance. My current theory is that after our evasive maneuver to shake the other ships, they realized they were following close enough for us to detect them, and adjusted their following distance.” 

“But we managed to lose the other four,” Glimmer says, pulling the data pad towards herself to study the floating model of the troop carrier. “How could the clones from Etheria keep following us after we stopped the public broadcast? How did they find out about the mission in the first place?” 

“If they were on Etheria at the same time that we were getting everything ready, that might have given them a chance to plant something.” Adora says thoughtfully. Bow notices she’s avoiding making eye contact with Catra across the table. “Could they have hidden a tracker somewhere on the ship while she was grounded for repairs?” 

“I had guards posted on that clearing.” Glimmer says, poking her finger spitefully through the cockpit of the illusory spaceship. “I don’t think they would have just let a clone through without telling us.” 

“Could one of them have posed as Hordak or Wrong Hordak?” Catra suggests.

“We made it clear to the guards that Hordak wasn’t allowed anywhere near the ship,” Bow counters, “And they knew about the incident at the party, so they would have been alert to anybody trying to pass themselves off as Wrong Hordak.”

“I never claimed to be him,” Hordak grumbles. They ignore him.

“I still think we should check the ship for any sort of tracking… you know... thingies,” Adora says, spinning her hands as she struggles to find the right word. Bow sends a glance to his right just in time to see Catra fighting down a little smile. Good. It’s good if she can’t stay mad at Adora. They’ll be in a better position to have the conversation they clearly need to have if they’ve calmed down a little and remember how much they love each other. He gives Catra’s hand an approving little squeeze and she looks at him, rolls her eyes, and pulls her grasp out of his to cross her arms in front of her chest. Ah, damn. Oh well. She looks like she’s not as freaked out about the memories from being chipped, at least. 

“I’ll run a diagnostic scan and put together a program to monitor for any bursts of transmission,” Entrapta says, reclaiming her data pad from Glimmer to start rapid-typing something into it. “If we _have_ been bugged, it’s likely something that lies dormant for hours at a time and only puts out a quick transmission on a long timer cycle, to make it harder for us to catch it in the act. That’s how I would have done it, at least.” 

“Sounds good,” Glimmer says with a nod. “So, what else? Do we continue to the rendezvous point? Are we putting the Star Siblings in danger by meeting up with them while we’re potentially being tracked by a bunch of Prime’s clones?”

“I think that’s a risk we have to take,” Catra says tersely, arms still crossed. “We can’t just dive into Jantix II without any contacts or detailed intel. We’d be walking right into enemy territory. And besides, Wrong Hordak said the clones only seemed to care about the server. I don’t think the Star Siblings are a priority for them.” Across the table from her, Adora sighs and rubs her eyes. Bow watches out of the corner of his eyes as Catra tenses up, bracing herself to be disagreed with.

“Catra’s right.” Just like that, Catra’s shoulders unclench. He doesn’t get a good look at her face, not wanting to be too overt, but it looks like she’s keeping her expression carefully neutral. “The clones ran from the fight because it wasn’t going to get them closer to the server. They’ll probably leave the Star Siblings alone if they don’t think they have any useful information about the server. They know that we’re the ones who are looking for it, so we’re the ones they’ll focus on and follow. At least, that’s what I hope happens.” 

“Do we need to land somewhere and have the conversation away from Darla, if we’re worried the ship is bugged?” Glimmer asks, frowning. 

“I don’t think so,” Bow says, shaking his head. “Wrong Hordak said they started trying to find out what our next target was, which means they didn’t already know. If they’d managed to bug the ship and record our conversations, they’d already know.”

“The energy signal of a constant recording device would be small, but noticeable,” Entrapta adds, without looking up from her rapid typing at the data pad. “That would be _much_ harder to hide from me, and would require a bigger data dump during the periodic transmissions. I would definitely have noticed it by now. If they _are_ tracking us, which I’m still not totally convinced they are, it would be something much more subtle.” 

“Okay, so we’ll proceed with the rendezvous with the Star Siblings,” Bow says, with a firm nod. “We might as well wait until then to decide how the added element of these clones changes our plans for Jantix; there’s no point in trying to figure out counter-measures and contingency plans for them showing up again if we don’t actually know what the main plan is.” 

“Sounds good,” Adora says, echoing Bow’s nod. She braces herself with her arms against the table to get up from the bench and then hesitates, looking at Catra. Bow can see Catra looking back, briefly, and then turning away. She folds the motion naturally into the process of her own rise from the table, but it’s a clear rebuke. Making the conscious decision not to meddle, Bow turns his attention back to his left, where Wrong Hordak is still clasping his hand. 

“Hey, I was thinking I might make some tea. You want some?” Wrong Hordak smiles, soft and vulnerable and grateful. 

“That sounds soothing, yes, thank you. May I linger in the kitchen while you prepare the hot beverages?” 

“Of course,” Bow says, smiling back at him and carefully extracting his hand. It sort of feels like they’ve been raising a very tall child, having Wrong Hordak on board the ship with them. He wonders if this counts as practice. He wonders, idly, if Glimmer wants kids. 

  
  


**Catra**

By the time they’re alone in their bedroom and the door is closed, she’s less angry. She’s not _not_ angry, exactly, but with the urgency and the adrenaline and the immediate horror of the underground bunker out of the equation, her sharp fury has dulled to an aching frustration. It’s hard to hold onto anger once they’re back in the bedroom, anyways; it smells the way that old blanket did, the one she treasured for months after she should have accepted that Adora had left the Horde and wasn’t coming back. It’s _them,_ blended together into a special comforting scent of its own. This is the smell of home. This is the smell of safety. 

“Catra,” Adora starts, standing tense and awkward at the door, “before you say anything, I just - look, I don’t know how to explain this exactly, without it just making you mad at me.” Catra bristles preemptively, knowing her lashing tail is telegraphing exactly how she feels about this ambiguous start to the conversation, but she doesn’t interrupt Adora. “I just did what had to be done, and there wasn’t anybody in a better position to do it. I _know_ I need to do better about trusting people to help, trusting people to be able to fight by my side and do things I think I ought to do on my own, but this was a situation where the only person who could have pulled it off was She-Ra.” 

“I don’t like when you talk about She-Ra like she isn’t you,” Catra says softly, focusing on this nitpick because it’s easier than facing down the bigger issue that’s in front of her. 

“Fine. _I_ was the only person who could do it, with She-Ra’s magic. If I hadn’t acted, Entrapta would be dead right now. I get that you were worried about me, and I’m _sorry_ if I freaked you out, but there wasn’t time to debate it.”

“I just - you can’t blame me for hating it,” Catra says, her voice already scratchy, tears already spilling down her face. “You _always_ do this. You find the most dangerous fucking job and volunteer yourself for it even if it’ll get you killed, like it doesn’t matter if you die, or get horribly hurt or something. I thought - I thought after the Heart that things would be _different.”_

“Things _are_ different,” Adora says, crossing the room to clutch Catra’s hands in hers. Catra feels weak, pathetic, _needy_ for letting her, but she doesn’t pull away. “I wasn’t sacrificing myself back there, Catra. I was just doing my _job.”_

“I tell you that someone’s about to drop an elevator car on you from seven thousand feet up and you don’t turn around and get out of there, that sounds pretty damn self-sacrificial,” Catra snaps, keeping her eyes on their entangled hands, unable to look at Adora’s face. 

“I knew I could handle it,” Adora insists, and damn her, she sounds _so_ sure of herself. “Like, do I ever want to do that again? Absolutely not. It was dangerous, but I do dangerous stuff all the time! And anyways, _you_ took your helmet off on a planet with poisonous air to yell at me.” Catra’s heart betrays her with a fond little tug at the way Adora can’t make the accusation without an amused curl to her tone.

“I took a deep breath first and I put it back on right away. It wasn’t actually dangerous,” Catra retorts sullenly, pulling her hands from Adora’s so that she can wrap her arms around Adora’s waist and press against her. She still can’t look at her, can’t make eye contact, but it feels like if she goes another second without tucking her body against Adora’s, she’s going to start to shake like some sort of addict. 

“But you get what I mean, right?” Adora says softly. “It was dangerous to take your helmet off, but you did it as safely as you could because you knew it was more important to get the message to me. That’s the same way I made the decision to keep going instead of turn back. It was dangerous and I knew that, but it was more important to save Entrapta. I’ve been doing this She-Ra thing for a few years now, you know. I have a pretty good grasp of what I’m capable of as her.” Catra exhales hard, tightens her grip on Adora’s waist. Adora’s arms come up and around her shoulders; the touch is tentative, but Catra finds that it’s welcome. 

“You scared me,” she admits quietly into Adora’s chest, blinking through a fresh swell of tears. Just like that, Adora’s hands twine reassuringly in her hair, holding her tight instead of like she’s made of barbed wire. 

“I need you to trust me,” Adora murmurs. Catra can hear the choked quality in the words, can smell the salt of Adora’s tears. “We can’t do this if we don’t trust each other.” Catra jerks like she’s been struck by a blow. _We can’t do this._ Panic grips her instantly. Adora doesn’t want her. Adora doesn’t want her, doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to be with her. “No, fuck, no what’s not what I meant!” Adora’s frantic babble just barely stops Catra from going over the edge of a sudden chasm of all the doubts and insecurities and fears she’s been grappling with since the final battle. She _needs_ Adora to keep talking, to clarify what she _did_ mean before this delicate foothold crumbles out from underneath of her. “I mean the mission, I mean fighting side by side as part of a team. Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. That came out totally wrong. I’m sorry, I - I’m really bad at this.” 

“Just stop - stop talking for a second, please?” Catra manages to say through her teeth, clinging to Adora like the world is about to end again. 

“Yeah - yeah - I can - I’ll shut up now.” Adora’s arms around her reciprocate the urgency of the embrace, and it’s… anchoring, good, safe. Listening to Adora’s heartbeat, Catra manages to get her breathing to slow back down. To Catra’s relief, Adora keeps her word and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to explain more or add any new clarifications. She just holds her and lets her come back down from that unexpected moment of brief terror. When her chest stops feeling like someone is squeezing it in a trash compactor, she finally summons the energy to speak.

“Feelings are the fucking _worst,”_ she mutters. 

“You’re telling _me,”_ Adora says, in agreement, and Catra loosens her grip a little and turns her head up to finally face Adora. Her gaze finds those old familiar eyes, and it’s like the smell of their bedroom all over again, allowing something inside of her to uncoil and relax. Adora’s eyes are a summer stormcloud, a giddy race through warm pattering drops of water on a hot day when for once it doesn’t feel so terrible to be caught in the rain. They’re safety. They’re home. Adora holds the gaze, doesn’t shy away from it. Her eyebrows pinch and lift, her mouth threatens a smile. Before she knows it, a familiar thrum interrupts the silence between them. Adora smiles in earnest then, and she lifts a hand to wipe a tear from Catra’s cheek. “It’s weird hearing you purr at the same time you’re crying.” Catra leans her cheek into Adora’s palm, feeling intensely raw. 

“I’m not crying, _you’re_ crying,” she retorts, closing her eyes and turning her face to press it against the heel of Adora’s hand. This motion then of course demands to be completed by a kiss to the middle of Adora’s palm. “Can we go to the bed?” she asks, lips brushing warm calluses and creases, refusing to leave the safety of that touch. 

“Yeah,” Adora says. Catra starts to release her hold on Adora, but then Adora squats down and puts an arm under Catra’s legs and one behind her back, and with a tiny grunt picks her right up off the floor. Catra laughs and swats Adora’s shoulder, draping an arm behind her neck to stabilize herself. 

“Show off,” Catra snorts. She hasn’t stopped purring, but she _has_ stopped crying. Adora just seems to puff up a little more at this, like it was some sort of compliment, which, okay, maybe it was. 

“Can I kiss you?” Adora asks softly, with so much unashamed tenderness that Catra feels like she ought to be embarrassed _for_ her. 

“Yeah,” Catra breathes, utterly intoxicated. She _hates_ being carried, has since she was a kid, but _this…_ this is different. Adora holding her feels so natural that she could swear they’ve done this before. Adora leans her head in and Catra closes the rest of the distance and kisses her with the buzzing insecurity and fear and need she’s been feeling since the elevator shaft. _What if I’d lost you?_ The kiss asks, and to her surprise, Adora’s mouth on hers has an answer. 

  
_I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere._


	29. Jantix II

**Entrapta**

“You understand the mission, Entrapta?” Bow asks. He has asked this question already several times, as have the rest of the crew. From data gathered in conversation with Scorpia, Entrapta has learned that people sometimes use this question as a way to express doubt, rather than as an actual inquiry about the clarity of the plan. Based on the fact that Bow already has the information he’s requesting, either he hasn’t been listening to her or this is one of those circumstances where a posed question is actually a statement about his concerns in her ability to perform the task. 

“It’s exceedingly simple,” she says, hoping it will reassure him or at least get him to stop asking the same question. “Infiltrate the science labs where the Jantix II rebellion says the local hivemind is being hosted and networked, search their database for any sign of Prime’s backup server on the planet, and write a virus to destroy the hivemind on a timer after we safely leave.”

“And remember, you’re going to have to be undercover the entire time,” Bow reiterates.

“Yes, I remember,” she says, distracted by her growing anticipation. The opportunity to explore and play around in the magnificent wonderland of a technologically advanced planet’s classified systems… and if their cover holds, there won’t be any sort of sense of urgency. She can delve in for _hours,_ maybe _days_ if she can find an excuse to draw out the mission a little. 

“It should not be necessary for the both of us to go with her,” Hordak growls, crossing his arms and glaring at Wrong Hordak. 

“Starla said it would look more believable to the Jantix clones,” Glimmer says, fussing with Wrong Hordak’s white robes. “She said it’s standard procedures for clones to move in pairs, especially if they’re escorting a non-chipped outsider, even if the outsider is an ally.”

“Which I am pretending to be!” Entrapta adds, to try to prove to them that she _has_ been paying attention and taking this seriously, even though she urgently wants to just get going and get her hands on that sweet, sweet hivemind tech. The idea of the Jantix II scientists building their own from scratch without having Prime’s as reference is just so interesting - it’ll be rudimentary, compared to his, but like Hordak’s improvised engineering on Etheria, she expects to find fascinating workarounds and brilliant technological chimeras of different code languages and methodologies. 

“I have pretended to be a loyal clone before,” Wrong Hordak says, obediently holding still while Glimmer slicks back his hair. “I believe myself to be even more capable of this deception than I was on Etheria.”

“You will let _me_ do the talking,” Hordak hisses. “We might as well be using a machine bolt as a wood screw, to depend on you for any kind of espionage.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Adora says levelly, “but don’t be mean to Wrong Hordak. He’s also going with you to make sure you don’t just immediately sell us out and switch sides, so if we don’t hear from him during a regular check-in, we’re going to assume you’re compromised.” Entrapta could have been the one to give them the assurances over comm that all was well, but they seemed determined to have Wrong Hordak play that role. Something about him not being lured away by the promise of a city full of evil scientists, she wasn’t really listening. 

“Just stick to the script,” Bow says, addressing the three of them. He frowns, taking one last check of their newly manufactured disguises. “I wish I could go with you,” he sighs. 

“And I wish these robes had more pockets,” Entrapta says, patting herself unhappily. “They’re really just not practical at all.” Oh well. She’ll find some way to smuggle some tech back with her. 

“We’d better get going,” their Rebellion contact says. Entrapta has completely forgotten what her name is. Her only significance to Entrapta is that she showed up at the meeting point with Darla in a real live Prime light transport vehicle, a beautiful little masterpiece that’s small enough to fit right into Darla’s cargo bay. Obviously they can’t take Darla herself too close to Jantix II since they still haven’t figured out how they’re being tracked - and it just happens that approaching the planet in a Prime ship works perfectly into the plan they’ve concocted with the help of the rebels, anyways. 

“Good luck,” Adora says, tapping the new communications device she has in her ear. “Stay in contact, and remember that the priority is finding the server.” Entrapta’s much more confident that these versions will go undetected. Like all good inventions, the design just needed some testing and iteration. 

“We’ll be standing by if you need us,” Bow says. “Worst case scenario, we’ll just have to get you guys out of there the same way we got out of Prime’s ship.” 

“This is a bad idea,” Catra says, arms crossed, standing off by a wall. 

“It’s the best idea we’ve got,” Glimmer says. Entrapta can’t quite read her tone of voice, but she’s inclined to enthusiastically support any plan that puts her in the middle of a technological hub on a strange planet. “And if Hordak really wants to prove that he’s on our side against Prime, he’s not going to get a better chance than this.” 

“I will not fail,” Hordak says stiffly. “And I will not allow any harm to befall Entrapta.”

“Are we going now?” Entrapta says, unable to contain her excitement. 

“Yes,” Hordak says, turning away from the group swiftly and boarding the small, sleek spacecraft that the local rebellion has provided them with. She’s much smaller than Darla, barely big enough for all three of them. _Hello, sweetheart,_ Entrapta thinks idly as she boards, running a giddy hand along her side. What a beautiful little ship. Opal feels like the right name for her. 

“I am feeling somewhat nervous,” Wrong Hordak says, as he settles into the co-pilot’s seat next to Hordak. “Do you also feel the same?” 

“Nope!” Entrapta chirps gleefully, buckling herself into the passenger seat behind the two clones.

“No,” Hordak growls, tapping the control that closes the boarding ramp and seals the ship for takeoff. 

“Oh,” Wrong Hordak says. “Then I shall master my nerves. This is a very important task.” 

“Indeed,” Hordak mutters. “Ready for lift-off on your signal.” 

“You’re clear to launch,” Bow says into all their earpieces. “Good luck, and be careful.” 

  
  


**Hordak**

“Identify yourself immediately, small transport craft five-two-six-oh-thirty,” the voice crackles through their ship’s interface. He places a hand to the panel, activating the microphone.

“Requesting permission to approach vassal state hub seven-seven-one-eight, designation Vesuvion. We are loyal brothers on arrival from planet one-six-five-nine. Glory be to Horde Prime.” 

“Planet one-six-five-nine has been out of contact for two months,” the voice replies in an accusatory tone. 

“We are here to correct that,” Hordak says, feeling his hearts pick up tempo. If he cannot quite keep his affect perfectly flat, hopefully they will attribute that to one of the detrimental effects of trying to resume operations as normal without the benefit of the universal hivemind. “We have received word that your planet has established a rudimentary hivemind. Our long-range communicators remain out of commission, but we felt it was of the utmost urgency to get in contact when this information reached our planet.” 

“You felt? _Your_ planet?” 

“Forgive me, my brother.” The words are bitter on his tongue, but he forces himself to shape them. “The trial of the disconnect has been difficult, but we remain unwavering in our faith to Horde Prime. We are at your mercy; we have brought a skilled technician that we might study and replicate your work here, and bring it back so that we can cast out the shadows and be united in mind and purpose once more in our devotion to Prime.” There is a pause, but only a brief one. His stomach flips and clenches as he remembers how quickly and easily a decision can be reached, when thousands of minds work in concert. If he lingers overlong on this thought, he will start to hear the whispers again, start to miss them. He is grateful for the interruption of the clone on the other end of the line.

“Proceed to ground base seven-seven-one-eight, my brother. Coordinates have been sent to your ship for where to dock the vehicle. Glory be to Horde Prime.”

“Glory be to Horde Prime,” he says, then quickly ends the transmission and slumps in his seat with a sigh. This is going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. The _fear_ of walking back in among them, the _fear_ of having his mind wiped and his personality reset - having lost it all once before, the terror of the possibility seems much more palpable. He turns to the idiot clone at this side, who has yet to have his identity ripped away from him and likely does not have much in the way of survival instincts. “Whatever you do, do _not_ allow them to connect you to the local hivemind. It is likely that will be their first priority.”

“I will give them the prepared explanation, if they try.” The False Hordak offers him a strained smile, to which he sighs in disgust and turns to the console to punch in the coordinates they’ve received. 

“It is bad enough that the Etherian clones somehow know about the server,” he snarls, inputting the commands with perhaps more force than is required. He has his own private theories about how they found out. “The Jantix II loyalists have significantly more resources, and significantly higher numbers. We must throw them into disarray before they can move those resources against us, which they will immediately do if they gain access to either of our memories.” 

“Understood, my brother,” False Hordak says quietly, expression distant and a hand resting absently on the back of his neck. Hordak feels fury swell up inside of his chest. He’d thought he’d finally broken the fool of that habit - but they’re almost at the city, diving in between tall glistening buildings while Entrapta gasps and presses herself against the windshield, and his rage is tempered by her excitement. Besides that, he reminds himself that he must not appear ruffled and emotional when the Jantix II clones meet them at the landing site. He will let it slide for now. And anyways, they’ll need to remember to call each other that when in front of the enemy. Maybe the idiot was only trying to get in character. 

There are only two clones that greet them when they emerge from the ship, which is a good sign. 

“Come, brothers,” one of them says, leading them up a pristine walkway to an elevator. “Let us relieve you of the burdens of your loneliness. We can connect you right away to our local network.”

“Your compassion reflects your loyalty to the encompassing light of Horde Prime,” Hordak says, uttering the words he’s been rehearsing in his head for the last five minutes, trying to seem genuinely sad about what he follows it with, “but I would be remiss in my duties if I did not warn you of the danger it might pose to do so.” The clones guiding them stop short.

“Danger?”

“Yes,” he says, keeping his grip on Entrapta brutally tight as he feels her tugging against the hold, trying to go inspect some clearly interesting piece of technology in a different direction. “Planet one-six-five-nine has been attempting to build a temporary local network much the same as you have here. We were able to initialize it and successfully connect to one another, but our security measures were bypassed by rebel forces, and some manner of virus shut the network down. We would not put your network at risk by connecting ourselves; we have yet to determine if the virus could make the jump to your system. Our technician hopes to answer that question with her study of your network. She is the individual with the most expertise on the rebels’ virus.”

“And you trust her, this impure outsider?”

“This planet employs many researchers and scientists that are of the local species, does it not? We have found this one to be useful, when deployed for specialized purposes and with supervision. We assure you, she will not be allowed out of our sight.” The Jantix II clones linger, regarding Entrapta and clearly having a larger debate. 

“Very well. We will provide your specialist with a _copy_ of the data, for safety’s sake, and not with direct access to the network itself.”

“That is sensible,” Hordak says, even as the Etherian Queen swears colourfully in his ear. “It will be a blessing to be able to return once more to Prime’s light and bask in the comfort of his all-knowing wisdom.”

“Has there been news of his return?” The clone on their left gasps, a little too urgently, a little too excitedly. So, the cobbled together local hivemind has not completely smoothed out the individual personalities of the clones here, and it seems they have not learned of the backup server. 

“No,” Hordak says, trying very hard to seem upset by this. “We had hoped that this planet, with its superior technology, might have information on that score that we did not. But of course we remain faithful to Horde Prime and certain of his return to us.” 

“My brothers,” the clone on the right chastises, resuming the walk to the elevator, “Perhaps this conversation is not one we ought to have with an outsider present.”

“Of course, my brother, you are right,” Hordak says, tasting bile. They step into the elevator, and descend into one of the buildings. Entrapta makes frequent noises of primal glee as the clones lead them through several floors of laboratories and security checkpoints, asking rapidfire questions about the technology and the research. Their escort does not entertain any of the questions, but Hordak feels they made the right choice to use Entrapta for this mission; her utter sincerity is disarming. He cannot imagine any of the other Etherians being able to act out the role of Horde ally - well, perhaps _Catra_ might have been able to do it - so convincingly. By the time they arrive at the site of the network room, a vast web of machines connected together in some complex configuration by a jungle of cables, there can be no doubt that Entrapta has zero fear of Prime clones and is truly thrilled to be there. It is precisely her inability to hide her feelings that makes her such a good fit for this operation. And, of course, her technological skill. None on board Darla compare to her, of this Hordak is certain. Perhaps none on all of Etheria. 

“We have loaded a duplicate of the data onto this terminal,” a clone says, leading them to a side room. “We understand that one of you must remain here to supervise the specialist, but we would like for one of you to join us for a verbal debriefing of the state of planet one-five-six-nine. We understand that it too great a risk to connect you to our network, but it is essential that we begin to reconsolidate our powers across the galaxy in preparation for Horde Prime’s return.”

“Yes, of course, my brothers,” Hordak says, hesitating. 

“Wait, no, you aren’t supposed to get separated,” Adora says in their ears. 

“We can’t trust Hordak to be alone with them. Send Wrong Hordak,” Glimmer says. 

“Can Wrong Hordak make up a bunch of real-sounding bullshit on the fly about a planet he only sort of knows anything about?” Bow interjects nervously. Hordak looks back at Wrong Hordak. Hordak knows he’s the better choice, but if the Etherians take it as a sign of his betrayal, it may blow the entire operation and end in his execution. 

“My brother?” The Jantix II clone asks, waiting for one of them to take the initiative. Hordak clears his throat and returns his attention to them. 

“I… _trust,”_ he says, putting all the emphasis on that one word, “that you have some amniotic fluid capsules available. The journey has drained our supply somewhat. After I have refreshed this body, it would be my pleasure to provide you with whatever information can be useful in service to Horde Prime.” 

“No, Wrong Hordak, don’t let him go with them,” Glimmer snarls. 

“Wait,” says another voice. _Catra._ “Let him go.”

“What??” Glimmer sounds outraged. “Why?”

“He’s the better liar. If he goes with them, there’s a _chance_ he’ll betray us. If Wrong Hordak goes with them, it’s basically _guaranteed_ they’ll see through him after long enough. It’s the less risky of the two choices.” Her cold calculation seems to convince the others, as no further arguments happen in his ear. If the Jantix II clones notice his brief distraction, they likely assume it is due to the derangement of having been disconnected from the hivemind for so long. He goes with them, and hopes he can hold out against their questioning for long enough to allow Entrapta to work her magic. 

He will actively choose to put his trust in her. If anybody can accomplish this, she can. 

  
  


**Glimmer**

“I should be there,” Adora sighs in frustration for what feels like the thousandth time. “I hate sitting here doing nothing, just waiting for something to go wrong.” 

“Adora, you _know_ you’re a terrible actor,” Glimmer says, trying to put some affection into the words so they aren’t too harsh of a rebuke. “You’d be putting the mission at risk by going. We need to think strategically and play to the strengths of our team.”

“Wrong Hordak and Entrapta aren’t exactly undercover material either,” Adora retorts. Glimmer is half tempted to tell Catra she needs to drag that girl into their bedroom and fuck some of the tension out of her. Adora’s been on edge since Denebria, and it’s only gotten worse since they decided to send Entrapta and the Hordaks unaccompanied to the planet’s surface. 

“Listen,” Glimmer says, pushing herself up from her chair on the bridge to go lean against Adora’s chair and drape an arm across her chest in a half hug, “I get it. Sending someone else off into a dangerous mission without you is basically one of the worst parts about being Queen. I hated doing it, and I still hate doing it.” Adora tilts her head back in the chair to look up at her, eyebrows raised, and then after a few seconds laughs.

“I was waiting for the part of that motivational speech where you tell me how you figured out how to not let it bother you so much.” 

“Oh, yeah, no, I have no idea,” Glimmer says wryly, squeezing Adora’s shoulder and smiling down at her. “Probably boring things like trust and communication and being prepared.” She glances across the bridge. “Catra, you doing okay?” Catra’s head jerks away from the window she’s distantly staring through and she turns to face Glimmer. 

“What?” Catra snaps, and then immediately she lowers her shoulders, ears flicking back. Guilty, Glimmer thinks - she’s pretty sure that look means guilty. “I’m. I’m fine. Just worrying about whether I made the right call with Hordak. If he betrays us - ” 

“If he betrays us, it’ll be no worse than if Wrong Hordak got caught and forced back into the hivemind,” Bow says, standing up from his own chair to come join the group. “You were right, Catra, in terms of risk assessment, Hordak was the better choice.” Catra flashes Bow a little smile. Glimmer wants to squish both their faces. 

“So what do we even _do_ now?” Adora wonders, staring up at the screens of information about Jantix II that were given to them by the Rebellion. They’ve studied them inside and out, know every hallway of the building where the local hivemind is being hosted, have scoured the profiles of every major scientist and leader working on Prime’s side. “It could take hours for Entrapta to determine one way or another if the server for Prime’s backup consciousness is somewhere on Jantix II. Not to mention she doesn’t have direct access to the actual hivemind like we were hoping.” 

“She’ll figure it out,” Glimmer says, straightening up and pulling away from Adora’s chair. “When she’s got a goal, not much seems to get in her way.”

“For better or for worse,” Bow chuckles. “Hey, here’s an idea. I found the recipe for potstickers in the old family cookbook Lance gave me for the trip. We haven’t made them in ages, not since the last of my brothers all moved out, but I remember when I was a kid we used to sit around a table making dumplings as a family and it was really nice. If I make the dough for the wrappers, will you guys come hang out in the multiroom and help me stuff them? We’ll still get the communications just fine from there. It’ll kill some time and keep your hands busy while we’re waiting.”

“That’s a great idea, Bow!” Glimmer declares, just as excited for dumplings as she is for something to do, and promptly latches onto Adora’s hands and starts pulling her out of the chair. “Come on, let’s go do that. You too, Catra!” 

“Okay, okay,” Adora laughs, allowing herself to be hauled to standing. “But I’m already warning you my dumplings are going to turn out awful. You know I have no idea how to cook. I’m only agreeing because I think I’ll go crazy if I just sit here waiting.” 

“Nobody’s dumplings turn out perfect on the first try,” Bow says, eyes bright. Glimmer’s heart melts a little at the earnestness of his smile. She has a feeling he needs this brief little escape as much as any of them. 

“Speak for yourself,” Catra announces, strutting past them on the way to the hallway. Glimmer doesn’t miss the way her tail brushes along Adora’s ass on the way past. “Mine are going to be perfect.”

“As if,” Adora teases, chasing after her to the kitchen. “You know as much about cooking as I do!” 

“Even if they’re not perfect, they’ll _definitely_ be better than yours!” Their laughter echoes down the hallway after them. Glimmer studies the sound, picking it apart. It’s not completely back to normal, not completely free of stress and anxiety, but it _is_ good to hear them laugh, even if it’s a bit strained. 

“You okay?” Bow asks softly, putting a warm hand on her waist. She turns to face him with a smile, putting her own hand on his lower back and pulling him close for just a moment. 

“Just wishing this moment wasn’t tainted by Horde Prime and this mission. I have no idea if we’re absolutely batshit crazy for sending Entrapta and the Hordaks on an undercover mission to a Prime controlled planet. Sometimes I just get… tired. Sometimes I just want to make dumplings with my weird little family.” Bow smiles softly down at her and leans in for a kiss. She accepts it gratefully, shifting her hand from his back to his cheek. 

“I feel the same way,” he murmurs. “I wish I could just be upbeat and cheerful because everything is actually fine, and not because I’m trying to keep everyone distracted, myself included.”

“We’re almost there,” she answers, kissing him again and stroking the light stubble along his jawline with her thumb. She indulges in a longer kiss, more wistful than sensual, and pulls away only reluctantly. “We just have to push through this.” 

“Yeah.” His smile is sincere, but weary. He plants one last kiss to her forehead and then they head to the multiroom, where Adora has Catra in a headlock but seems to be on the losing end of their wrestling match, because she’s shrieking while Catra ruthlessly tickles her ribs. They fall apart giggling when Glimmer makes an exasperated noise, but she isn’t actually upset with their antics. It seems to have actually released some of the tension she was sensing earlier, and so she’s glad they had a few seconds of alone time to rile each other up in that specific way of theirs. Still, she makes a point of dramatically sighing and shaking her head at them while wearing a big smile. That’s just part of the game, after all.


	30. Loyalty Test

**Wrong Hordak**

There was a time when he could have stood motionless for endless hours at a time, content to listen to the whispers of the hivemind and allow his body to settle into position, a perfect sentry, a bastion of placid discipline. Now, things are different. He is alone with his own thoughts and his own anxieties. He is afraid for Entrapta’s safety, and of course his own, and he is nervous because it has been two hours and Hordak has yet to return. It is surprisingly difficult to remain standing guard in these conditions, and because the walls of this cubicle are made, for some reason, from clear plexiglass, he cannot relax or converse with Entrapta without being observed. 

Besides that, Brother Entrapta has been wholly focused on her work, muttering to herself and clacking away loudly on the terminal’s strange spherical keyboard. He has no desire to interrupt her workflow. This is one benefit of being a single mind, he has discovered, the notion of uninterrupted concentration. The ability to focus in on a single task and trust that none can intrude on your thoughts is a strange and wonderful new thing. Unless, of course, the solitary focus of the mind is one’s own fears playing on repeat. This he does not enjoy quite so much. 

He stands a little straighter and aligns himself into a more severely neutral posture as a figure approaches the wall of their side office. Not a clone, but a scientist from this planet. He is large and broad - a head taller than any of the clones, certainly - and might be mistaken for hired muscle if not for the white lab coat with Horde Prime’s insignia on the breast pocket. There is something familiar about this man who strides towards them with a relaxed smile, pushing round spectacles up his nose. Recognition dawns. This is the head researcher responsible for the city’s advances in networking technology, Doctor Callix. 

What should he do? If he reacts visibly to the sight of the man, it risks betraying the mission. But he ought to warn Entrapta, perhaps, or else inform the rest of the crew back on Darla. Can he say it loudly enough to be heard without moving his mouth? Doctor Callix will see him talking to himself. The dossier from the rebels warned that he is incredibly intelligent. Perhaps best to say nothing. Maybe he’s just passing by. 

“Good afternoon,” Doctor Callix says warmly, pushing open the door to the office and stepping inside. The infiltrator looks at him blankly, trying to determine how to respond. There is awkward silence in which Entrapta continues to type frantically and the infiltrator does not know what to say.

“Glory be to Prime,” he eventually chokes out.

“Glory be to Prime,” Callix reponds, an amused smile on his rocky face as he returns the phrase almost conversationally. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I wanted to introduce myself.” Another pause. Finally, Entrapta turns.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you talking to me? I’m a little busy right now.” Her quick dismissal suggests that she has not recognized the man from their mission briefing, and panic surges within the infiltrator. Will Callix be angry? Will be seek retribution for this disrespect to his authority? Or, worse, will he realize because of this irreverence that Entrapta is no true subject of Prime? 

“I can see that,” Callix says, and to the infiltrator’s relief he chuckles and comes to look over Entrapta’s shoulder. “I’ve been watching your progress. I’m Doctor Callix, head researcher here.” 

“Yes, I know,” Entrapta says, already back on the keyboard and working away. This makes Callix pause.

“You know?”

“I saw your virtual machine capturing a mirror of my UI in the background processes and traced it back to you.” Her fingers clack rapidly, and text screams across the screen at a pace that seems impossible to follow. “I wanted to know who was watching me, obviously.” 

“So you decided to watch me back? Impressive.” Callix smiles, comes to study what she’s doing over her shoulder. “I was told you were here to try to learn how to recreate a temporary local hivemind link up like ours so that you could install one back on Jungula.”

“That is indeed our mission,” the infiltrator says quickly, speaking on Entrapta’s behalf with rigid urgency. Callix offers him only a semi-interested side glance before returning his attention to Entrapta. 

“If that’s why you’re here, can I ask why the last hour of your research has been prodding the framework for vulnerabilities?” 

“A virus took down our first attempt at a hivemind,” Entrapta lies with surprising ease, although she says it with a big smile on her face. “Our rebels seem to be a little more technologically savvy than yours. If I’m going to replicate your system back on our planet I need to find whatever holes you’ve got so that I can plug them before we launch.” 

“I assure you, you won’t find any ‘holes’.” He seems miffed by this, but confident in his assessment of his work. 

“Oh, I’ve already patched out several of them in this dummy version you’ve got me looking at. I can send you the repair log if you want it, you should probably secure some of these administrative backdoors a bit better.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to,” Callix says, and then there is a cheerful musical ping from his pocket. He withdraws a data pad and studies the file that Entrapta seems to have sent him, gnarled stony brows scrunching together in thought and then lifting up in alarm. “I don’t know how I could possibly have missed these. These are enormous security flaws. And the way you’ve re-written the data packaging is… what code language is this? It’s _beautiful.”_

“Oh, thank you! It’s one of my own invention. I call it Cupcake.”

“Entrapta, you’re supposed to be taking _advantage_ of their gaps in security, not _fixing them!”_ Glimmer growls into their ears. It is a relief at least to know that the team back on the ship were alerted to new audio feed coming in from Entrapta’s earpiece and have been listening in. As neither he nor Entrapta are in a position to respond, the comment goes unanswered.

“Cupcake?” Callix looks at her and then back at his data pad, scrolling through the code with one chunky finger. “How close do you think you are to finishing your review of the system’s vulnerabilities?” 

“I estimate completion in approximately thirty to forty-five minutes. Faster if this planet has any sort of high-in-sugar carbonated beverages. I don’t suppose you could get me one, could you?” The haphazard request spurs Callix to another bout of laughter; he has a deep, friendly sounding laugh. It is strange to feel so conflicted about him - he seems genial, if perhaps proud, but the work he is doing is actively keeping an entire planet’s population in servitude. His personal behaviour is kind, but his broader actions are harmful. Perhaps he is like Prime, in a way. Perhaps he is not so friendly when he is opposed. 

“I’m afraid this place is all amniotic fluid dispensers and has been for a while. I didn’t realize Jungula had such a thriving contraband economy. Sugar isn’t something your average lackey can get hold of.” There’s an edge there, a test. What will Entrapta say? Is their cover blown? Should he grab Entrapta and run? 

“Well obviously I’m not _from_ Jungula,” Entrapta counters, tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard. “I joined the Horde on Etheria.”

“A recent recruit. Etheria… I don’t know that planet name. What’s its catalog number?”

“Never thought to ask,” Entrapta shrugs, engrossed in her code writing. 

“Hm,” is all Callix has to say to that. Abruptly, he turns to face the infiltrator. “You there, clone. What’s the planetary catalog number for the planet designated _Etheria?”_

“I - I - I do not know,” he stammers in reply. He was supposed to let Hordak do all the talking. Deception is enormously stressful, he is remembering now that he’s been put on the spot, and his earlier bravado was direly misplaced.

“Ah, damn, right, you’re disconnected, I forgot about that. Well, you can at least tell me how things have been on Jungula, since that’s where you came from.” 

“M - my brother is - has been debriefing the - your - our other brothers, on that situation.”

“Wrong Hordak, don’t tell him anything about Jungula,” Catra’s voice says into this ear, “they’re trying to catch you in a lie. They’ve got you separated and they’re going to ask you both the same questions and see if you give different answers. You just need to come up with a reason not to answer him, okay?” 

“Well,” Callix says, sure enough, “he’s telling _them,_ but I’d appreciate if you caught _me_ up on the broad strokes of what’s going on over there. I’m unfortunately not able to join the hivemind. It would have a negative impact on my research.” He displays a sad smile, as if he deeply regrets having too valuable of a mind as an individual. 

“Don’t answer him,” Adora urges. “We haven’t been keeping track of all the random lies Hordak has been making up, and they’ve been interrogating him for hours.” 

“I - I am not permitted to speak,” is the first thing he blurts out, for some reason, in his panic. Callix frowns, tilting his head. His gaze turns sharp and scrutinizing. 

“Why?” The question is pointed, impossible to squirm out of. 

“Tell him your brains got scrambled when you were disconnected, or something,” Catra says frantically. “That you’re just the muscle and you’re bad at thinking, I don’t know!” 

“The, ah. The connection loss.” Callix takes a step closer to him. He is very large. “It was more difficult for - for this body, than for some others. The cognitive process - “

“Talking too much confuses you!” Glimmer suggests.

“When I speak at length, it - it makes thinking difficult. Please, I, I - must perform my duties in silence, my brother. Glory - glory be to Horde Prime.” Callix looms, regarding him with an intense, intelligent stare. It is a trial simply to draw breath under the weighty examination of those eyes. 

“An inherent cloning defect, most likely,” Doctor Callix says at last, thumping an apologetic and enormous hand on his shoulder. “Exposed by the sudden shock of the disconnection. I’m sorry to hear of your struggles, my brother.” The infiltrator only nods once and looks away. There is another long pause. Callix does not remove his heavy hand. One second passes. Two. Three. Four. “Well. I’ll leave you both to it. Send me that hotfix when it’s finished, will you? No sense in my duplicating your effort, I might as well use your patch on our branch as well.”

“You got it,” Entrapta says, throwing him a thumbs up without looking away from her screen. He departs from their clear cubicle and wanders off in the direction the clones took Hordak. 

If that was a test, he can only hope that they somehow managed to pass. 

  
  


**Adora**

“...that went okay, right? I think? Maybe?” 

“Adora, calm down. Breathe,” Glimmer says, putting herself and the stack of dumpling-filled containers she's carrying in the middle of Adora’s pacing route around the multiroom, holding up one hand like she’s trying to calm a panicking horse. Adora sucks in a deep breath in a way that is maybe a little needlessly aggressive, and then remembers the other reason she’s so worked up.

“Entrapta,” she snaps into the communicator, holding her finger to her ear to activate transmission mode, “why are you _fixing_ their security holes?”

“Oh, just the small ones,” Entrapta chuckles, the unceasing sound of her typing an ever present backdrop. “It’s my workaround for getting access to the system. I’ve written an extremely thorough security hotfix for several serious gaps in security that they’ll want to implement _immediately._ As soon as they install the patch, they’ll be installing my virus at the same time. I’m building in a function to launch it immediately on receiving specific input from me but I’ve also got it on a timer set to eight hours from install, as planned.”

“Oh. Oh! Man, you really had me scared for a second there. I actually thought you - nevermind, it’s fine, okay. So, you’ve figured out a way around the fact that they won’t let you work on the hivemind directly, and we can go ahead and tell the Jantix II Rebellion that in eight hours all the clones will be in chaos and that’ll be the time to strike. What about the backup server? Any sign of it being on Jantix II?”

“At first I wasn’t sure how I was going to run the search, without actual access to the live hivemind network, but Callix trying to spy on my work gave me a clean path right into his file system. He’s good but he’s arrogant, it was pretty simple to set up an automatic search to run on his files while I distracted him with my search for vulnerabilities in the system.”

“That’s great, Entrapta,” Catra says, with surprising patience, “but did you get any information out of it about whether the server is there? If we’re going to bring Darla in and make a run for the server before our tail can show up and alert the entire planet to what we’re doing, we need to time it for the same moment the virus goes live and causes mayhem with the clones.” 

“So, good news, and bad news. And maybe also more bad news?” 

“Start with the bad news,” Adora sighs, flopping down backwards onto the bench, dumping her head into Catra’s lap without warning. It’s just Bow and Glimmer here with them, she doesn’t care if they see her being needy. 

“Okay, so, the bad news is that Jantix II is absolutely _riddled_ with huge servers that are capable of holding the kind of data that Prime was transmitting from the Velvet Glove. There are at least fifty-seven sites across the planet that fit the description and could potentially be the right one.” Adora feels dizzy. She’s glad she’s already lying down. 

“Good news now please,” she groans, closing her eyes. She feels Catra’s arm drape loosely across her chest, and brings one of her hands up to tangle their fingers together.

“Okay, the _good_ news is that none of these servers seem to be old enough to be using the data formatting that we have samples of from the flagship. Which brings me to the other bad news, which is that based on this research, the evidence overwhelmingly points to the backup server _not_ being on Jantix II.” 

“Another dead end,” Adora mutters, taking her finger off the transmit button. “We’ve wasted so much time already.”

“This isn’t a waste of time,” Glimmer says firmly. “We’re helping the people of Jantix II take back their home after centuries of being ruled by Prime’s lackeys. It’s the least we can do to pay back the Galactic Rebellion for all the intel they’ve given us.” She’s not wrong. If the server isn’t on Jantix II, that means they need to turn their attention to the last two planets on their list, both of which are solidly in distant parts of space that have been Horde territory for so long nobody knows what’s really there anymore. The Star Siblings’ allies took huge risks scouting the area for them. Taking down the Jantix II hivemind for them is definitely worth the time investment and the danger. Thinking of that danger, Adora presses the talk button again in her earpiece.

“Entrapta, if the virus is done and ready to deploy, it’s time for you and the Hordaks to get out of there. The longer you stay the more likely it is your cover will get blown.”

“Can’t I just stay one more hour?” is the answering whine. 

“No. As soon as they finish grilling Hordak for information, you tell them you’ve got what you came for and it’s time to go back so you can implement it. We need to be as far away as possible by the time their hivemind goes boom so that we don’t pick up any new tails. One group of clones chasing us through space is plenty.” 

“Good news,” Bow says, poking his head into the multiroom from the hallways, “they’re finally done with Hordak. I cannot _believe_ how many random things he had to make shit up about. They seemed so frustrated they couldn’t just plug him into the hivemind and get all the information immediately but they clearly didn’t want to take the risk of being infected by whatever he supposedly is carrying.”

“Alright, Entrapta,” Adora says, activating her core and sitting back up. “Hordak’s on his way back to you. Send Doctor Callix your security patch and get ready to get the hell out of there.” 

**Hordak**

Hordak sincerely hopes he never has to hear or speak the sequence _one-six-five-nine_ ever again. This has been a very, very long three hours. 

“Come, my brother,” he says wearily to Wrong Hordak, and is too exhausted to even feel resentful about having to call him that for the sake of the ruse. “Specialist, I assume you have completed your task here and understand what needs to be done to repair the temporary local hivemind at - “ damn this infuriating string of numbers - “planet one-six-five-nine’s ground base?” 

“Oh, I’ve learned _so much,”_ Entrapta crows, and he knows not a single word is insincere. He’s glad of it, too, because this Doctor Callix seems entirely too interested in their little party.

“Brothers, if you would escort us back to our transport vessel?” He is only pretending to need a guide; he knows the route from here to the launch pad as clearly as he knows the walk from the engine room to his bedroom. They have studied the layout of this building with intense rigor during the travel time leading up to the mission - Adora would tolerate nothing less. She would have made an excellent Force Captain. 

“One last thing, before you go,” Doctor Callix says, stopping them with a smile and a hand on Hordak’s arm. He dislikes that hand, and he dislikes that smile. It is manipulative, predatory. This is a man who has power and enjoys wielding it. Hordak can sense this in his gut. “Your specialist has really done an incredible job with this security fix. I’ve got it installing now. It’s some of the most elegant code I’ve ever seen. I’d try to poach her for my own research team - “ Hordak has to fight the instant snarling fury that broils up inside of his throat - “but you guys obviously need her over there to get your local hivemind up and running. But I was thinking about what I could do to repay you, and I had an idea. You should leave the defective clone here with me.” Hordak’s hearts begin to race. No. _No._ How could they have known? Who would have told him?? Entrapta? No, she wouldn’t betray his confidence like that. What purpose would that have served? He wrenches his arm out of Callix’s grasp and starts to say something, but to his surprise, it’s the False Hordak who speaks.

“No, no, I must - I must remain with my assigned duties.” 

“Nonsense,” Callix says, broadening his smile further, “all of those who serve Prime do so in any capacity he deems suitable. You’ve been made in His image. You’re perfectly formed, and perfectly interchangeable. Another can take your role and oversee the installation on Jungula. I can fix you,” he tells Wrong Hordak, and Hordak feels the words clogging his airways like noxious smoke as if they’re directed at him, “if you’ll just come with me to my laboratory. I’ve done such good work for other clones who were… _confused_ by the sudden change of the disconnect.” There is open terror in Wrong Hordak’s eyes as the enormous Doctor Callix circles him hungrily. Hordak glances over at the other Jantix II clones; they seem disinclined to intervene, willing to let the head researcher have his way. The perks of being a loyal and uniquely productive follower of Prime - he has given them back their networked minds, and so they cannot deny him his whims, lest they risk the terrible isolation of disconnection once more. He feels like he’s going to vomit. 

“You cannot have him,” Hordak growls. Everybody turns to look at him. Dammit. He backtracks urgently. “You risk your entire network by incorporating either one of us into it before we are certain we will not deliver the rebels’ virus into the system. We will send him to you for repairs at a later date.”

“All the more reason to keep him,” Callix says, putting a large, dense arm over Wrong Hordak’s shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he notices Entrapta slip her hair into the side pocket of Callix’s lab coat and extract a data pad. Of course she can’t resist the opportunity to thieve interesting tech, even in the middle of a tense stand-off. “I’d like to do some research of my own into this rebel virus. I’m sure there’s quite a bit to be learned from it. Surely you can spare one clone. After all, he’s just a defective one. He’s hardly indispensable.” Hordak knows he’s shaking now, though he does not know if it’s from rage, from his physical frailty, or from some combination of the two. Wrong Horak looks at him with silently pleading eyes; it’s so pathetic he wants to spit. 

The thought _does_ cross his mind. He could leave the False Hordak here, take Entrapta on the little ship and _run._ They could find a quiet backwater moon somewhere far, far away from Etheria, and he could live out the rest of his years tinkering and pretending none of this had ever happened. He might even get a full decade out of it before She-Ra found him and ran him through with her blade.

“You may be the scientific authority here,” Hordak says, through gritted teeth, “but you are still an impure outsider, useful to Horde Prime only for your ability to produce value. There have been thousands like you, and will be thousands more. Be careful you do not come to see yourself as invulnerable. Nobody is perfect enough to bask in the light of Horde Prime’s approval forever, and when he returns there will be a _full_ accounting of what went on in his absence.” He draws himself up to his full height as he issues this threat, but Callix effortlessly outmatches him in that department and doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. 

“I don’t understand why you’re putting up such resistance,” Callix says, eyebrows going up and one massive hand going to his chest, as if he’s surprised and wounded by Hordak’s bad manners. “We’re doing you a favour.” With a jolt of terror, Hordak realizes more clones have quietly arrived on the scene, wordlessly communicating with one another and encircling the trio. There are too many. He can’t fight them all. But what choice does he have? 

“Hordak,” Bow’s voice says in his ear, “you need to get out of there _now.”_ He _knows_ that! Unable to yell his fury back at the foolish boy, Hordak clenches and unclenches his fists. How does he de-escalate this? How does he get them to calm down long enough that their guard slips and creates an opening through which they can flee? He opens his mouth, and -

Around them, the clones drop suddenly and simultaneously to the floor. 

“Hah!” Entrapta squeaks, brandishing Callix’s datapad. “It worked!” 

“No,” Callix whispers, looking at the heaps of unconscious figures, suddenly alone. “No! What have you done??” 

“Status report!” Adora snaps in his earpiece. “What’s going on??”

“Entrapta set off the virus. The hivemind is down,” Hordak announces openly, holding Callix’s eyes as he says it. He’d thought it would make him feel good, to watch this little tyrant’s kingdom crumble, but the sudden rage that appears in that rocky face reminds him so horribly of himself that he immediately regrets it. 

“Shit, okay, uh, that means we’re eight hours ahead of schedule. I’ll contact the rebellion and let them know they need to move _now.”_ The chatter in his ear fades away to irrelevance as Callix roars and rears up, balling his hands into fists. He just barely dodges the first swing, scrambling back and out of the way. 

“Entrapta, _run!_ Get to the ship!” He snarls, stumbling out of reach of Callix’s second swing. A piece of equipment shatters under the impact of the monstrous bow.

“What about you??”

“I - “ there is no opportunity to finish the sentence; Callix lunges for him, and he has to jump over several unconscious clones to get out of the way. “Just run! I will join you shortly!” His body aches as he forces it to unfamiliar athleticism. If he survives this day, he is going to demand to be permitted to have an exosuit again. He tugs the draping tabard section of his robes up and over his head and throws it in a panic at Callix on his next charge. Blinded, the head researcher trips over a prone body and crashes to the floor. Hordak winces, feeling some small pity for the clone who cushions the fall, and then turns to flee. Entrapta is ahead of him, standing unmoving at the first checkpoint, holding the door open and waiting for him to catch up. Seeing her put herself in peril for his sake, he pushes through the wheezing ache of his already tired muscles and demands from them another burst of speed. 

There are some other researchers of the native planet’s species who could potentially stand in their way, but most seem to huddle from them in fear or focus their attentions on tending to the unconscious clones. Entrapta applies a rapidfire hacking of the checkpoint doorways each time they pass through one. They open willingly for Hordak or the False Hordak, and once on the other side Entrapta tears a few strategic wires loose that hopefully will slow down any pursuers. The alarms don’t start blaring for several minutes, but when they do it only increases the rush of panic in Hordak’s mind. Behind them, through the scream of the siren, he can hear a terrible smashing, crunching sound of destruction. Callix is not far behind.

The elevator up to the rooftop launch pad is still active when they arrive. They pile inside and Hordak presses his palm to the interface and slides _up._ Doors shut and they begin to rise. Between this day and their experience on Denebria, Hordak frankly is beginning to loathe elevators. 

“We are almost to the ship,” he reports, panting, into his communicator. 

“The Rebellion is on the move,” Adora confirms sharply, “but don’t take off until we have confirmation that the planetary defense system is offline. If you try to leave atmo before the rebels take it down, they’ll shoot you out of the sky. Get to the ship and hold for my signal.” 

“Acknowledged,“ Hordak replies, gasping for breath after their terrified flight. It is in that moment that the elevator lights turn red and their ascent stalls. 

“Uh oh,” Entrapta says, quickly pulling Callix’s stolen data pad from inside her robes and pulling up something on the screen. “Looks like it finally occurred to them to disable the elevator.”

“What do we do now?” Wrong Hordak asks in a fearful whine. 

“Oh, that’s an easy fix. I have all of Callix’s access codes and administrative overrides. Oooooonnneee second, and - tada!” With a jerk, the elevator starts to move upwards again. “Just a momentary delay.” They continue onwards, and Hordak is about to feel the tiniest bit of relief as the doors to the roof open when a massive stony hand comes into view. 

“No,” he snarls, throwing himself between that grasping hand and Entrapta. Callix seizes him by the neck, dragging him out of the elevator and onto the roof. He gasps against the dread-inducing pressure, claws helplessly against the granite bulk of Callix’s arm. The doctor has lost his lab coat and glasses in the pursuit; his eyes are pure fury. That cool smirking rationalism is gone. 

“This is _my_ planet,” Callix roars, throwing Hordak bodily across the roof. There is the first thud of pain as he meets the smooth metal panelling at high speeds, and then a fresh spike of unimaginable agony as Callix kicks him in the stomach and sends him flying back another several feet. “I won’t let you take this from me.” Hordak wants to laugh at him smugly from the ground, wants to sneer and tell him that they already have, that his hivemind system will never work again, but truly, he is in _far_ too much pain for such theatrics. And perhaps this wouldn’t be so terrible an ending - certainly less ignominious of the death he’d thought he was facing back in the Fright Zone forge, defeated at the peak of his strength by a smirking little Etherian traitor. He could be proud of this one thing, of freeing some of his brothers from this petty warlord and his scientific fiefdom. 

“Hordak!!” Someone screams. Hm. Yes, that’s Entrapta. He should probably encourage her to get to the ship and leave him. Callix reaches down and seizes him by a forearm, lifts him up by it. It makes his shoulder socket bellow with agony. The good doctor walks them to the edge of the roof, dangles Hordak over empty air. It would be easy now to surrender to his fate, but from this raised position he can get a good look at Entrapta’s expression, and he realizes she wears the same worried scowl that she had on while standing at that checkpoint, holding the door for him. Ah. She isn’t going to willingly leave him behind. Despite all the physical pain he is in, that makes him smile.

“What are you so happy about?” Doctor Callix growls, retracting his arm to bring Hordak’s face closer to his, to better scrutinize him. Ah - without his spectacles he is near-sighted, and now Hordak is no longer suspended over the edge. There is ground below his feet. His smile gets wider. “What do you know that I haven’t realized yet?” Callix is an intellectual man, given to suspicion and paranoia. Hordak can use that to distract him. 

“You have not realized,” Hordak says softly, forcing Callix to draw him even nearer to hear the words, “that the other clone is on board the transport already, and that the transport ship is armed with a gun.” He says this primarily for the benefit of his allies listening in over the comm, to remind them of this capability and to give them permission to fire, risking harm to Hordak for the sake of dealing a blow to Callix. 

“My brother, are you sure??” Wrong Hordak keens in his ear. 

“I am not your brother,” he answers plainly, with what he suspects may be a rather manic-looking grin. It serves as an address to both Callix and Wrong Hordak, and the words fill his battered, bruised body with some semblance of pride, with a renewed determination to survive. “My name is _Hordak.”_ He indulges for a brief moment in the look of surprise on Callix’s face, and then releases a feral cry before pulling himself up to height, wrenching hard on the arm that he’s being dangled by, and then jamming the claws of his free hand into the doctor’s unprotected eyes. 

Callix hollers and throws him, and he goes careening towards the edge of the roof. His left shoulder is numb and unresponsive so he scrabbles desperately against the smooth metal with the fingers of his right hand. His feet fall out from under him, and then his legs, and his hips. Ah, so he _is_ going to die after all, he thinks morosely. But his hand catches, and so does his instinct to stay alive. Above, the blast of the ship’s gun firing cuts through the air. There is a magnificent _thump._ He can hear Entrapta yelling something, although the words are difficult to make out. His forearm begins to quiver, then tremble, then _shake._ No. No! 

Lavender hair wraps around his wrist. 

“I’ve got you!” 

“Entrapta,” he mutters, and that is the last thing he remembers before his abused body finally gives out and everything goes black.


	31. Adrenaline

**Bow**

Golden light fills the infirmary and illuminates the hallway, dancing over the faces of the people waiting outside. Bow and Glimmer have purposefully bracketed Wrong Hordak, who still hasn’t quite calmed down from the mission, and Catra is waiting beside them with Melog tightly curled around her. The brilliant glow fades away again, and a moment later She-Ra emerges, having to duck to pass through the door frame. 

“He’s stable,” Adora says, “but Entrapta thinks he’ll be unconscious for a while. She explained a little more to me about his genetic condition. Hordak is a lot more physically frail than I think any of us realized - that fight took a _lot_ out of him. He’ll be okay, but he has to rest.” Having delivered this news, she shifts out of She-Ra’s shape and back down to her regular size, like she’s finally exhaling a breath she’s been holding. Catra is the first to rise to her feet; she takes Adora’s hand in silent support. 

“A transmission from the Jantix II Rebellion came through while you were in there healing him,” Bow says, staying seated on the floor for now. “The hivemind is toast. They’ve managed to take the capital city and capture all the leaders that were loyal to Prime.”

“They weren’t thrilled about moving their plans ahead by eight hours with zero notice,” Adora says, frowning. 

“They pulled it off just fine, for all their pissing and moaning about it,” Catra shrugs. “We did them a huge favour. They never would have been able to pull off what Entrapta did back there.” 

“At the end of the day, this was a big victory for the Galactic Rebellion,” Bow says, hoping to reassure Adora. She’s been solemn and troubled looking since Wrong Hordak brought the light transport vehicle careening frantically into Darla’s cargo hold and she saw the extent of Hordak’s injuries. 

“I guess so,” is all she has to say to that. Bow can tell she’s got something weighing on her mind, and he has a suspicion regarding what it could be. 

“Everybody knew going in that it would be a dangerous mission,” Bow says, without preamble. “Hordak will be okay. Nobody else got hurt. I know it’s bothering you realizing just how close of a call they had, but we were on standby and ready to jump in with Darla if need be. They handled it just fine even without us.”

“We should have reacted faster,” Adora snaps. Ah, there it is, that’s the thorn wedged in her heart that’s making her so visibly ashamed. “If we had just met them there at the landing pad instead of making them go through the extra step of coming back on the transport ship, I could have dealt with Callix.”

“Adora, we didn’t know the rough shape Hordak’s body was in,” Glimmer says gently. “Maybe we’d have planned differently if we had. But we had a really good reason to avoid leading the Etherian clones right to the Jantix II hivemind.” This only makes Adora scoff.

“And we _still_ haven’t found the bug they’ve hidden on the ship.”

“We haven’t seen them since Denebria,” Bow says, trying to pull her out of her angry spiral. “Maybe that was just a stroke of luck for them, that they could guess where we were heading from when they’d tracked us before while we had that broadcast turned on. There might not even _be_ a bug to find.” Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to get her to talk about what was bothering her, because this line of conversation just seems to be riling Adora up instead of making her feel better. She drops Catra’s hand and stalks down the corridor towards the brig, shrugging out of her jacket as she goes. 

“I’ll be training if anybody needs me,” she mutters, ending the conversation. Catra frowns after her, clearly frozen with indecision about whether she should follow. 

“I’m giving her fifteen minutes with that punching bag,” Glimmer says firmly, once Adora’s out of earshot, “and then I’m dragging her to dinner. She’ll feel better after she eats. Everybody on board with that plan?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Bow says, feeling kind of guilty for pressing Adora about things without giving her time to process first. 

“Whatever,” Catra mutters, still looking down the hallway after Adora. Melog’s aura is blue, so she isn’t _angry,_ exactly. Sad? Hurt, maybe? Bow knows Adora walking away from her is kind of a sore spot. 

“You too,” Glimmer announces, getting to her feet and commandeering Catra’s arm. “You’ll feel better after you eat.” Without relinquishing Catra, Glimmer leans her head into the infirmary. “Entrapta, we made fresh dumplings today. Dinner will be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes, alright? I’ll send Melog to come get you.”

“Sure,” Entrapta says, sounding distracted. 

“Okay, come on, grouchy,” Glimmer declares, marching Catra towards the kitchen. “You can’t both be in a shitty mood at the same time. Come help me set the table.” Catra yelps in protest but doesn’t resist. 

“You coming, buddy?” Bow asks Wrong Hordak, pushing himself to his feet and then offering the clone a hand to help him do the same. 

“I will attend the meal when food is ready to be consumed,” Wrong Hordak says, with a dishearteningly small attempt at a smile. “I think I would like to be alone in my room for a while, if that is alright.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Bow says. “We’ll ask Melog to grab you at the same time they let Entrapta know dinner’s ready. It shouldn’t take long, we made all the dumplings earlier and we just need to heat up a pan and fry them.” 

“Just a moment alone will suffice,” Wrong Hordak says, rising from the floor somewhat unsteadily. He and Bow walk together down the hall and part ways at Wrong Hordak’s bedroom, and then Bow continues onwards to the kitchen. 

  
  


**Catra**

She can hear the thumping of Adora’s knuckles against the punching bag all the way from the kitchen. Balancing the big heaping plate of dumplings and dipping sauce with both hands, Catra takes a deep breath before plunging forward down the hallway and to the brig. It feels so familiar, the metal panelling below her feet, the distant sound of Adora’s hitched breath as she fights her feelings down with physical exertion, sniffling to suppress tears in between flurries of strikes. Of course, back in the Fright Zone she’d have been bringing Adora ration bars, not a steaming plate of potstickers. 

This is the first time in over a month that she’s begged herself out of having dinner with the group in the multiroom, but it felt important to do it this way. There’s something about the gesture of bringing Adora food and giving her the option to eat it away from the group that feels like the appropriate way to remind her that she doesn’t have to handle things alone, that Catra sees right through her and at the same time isn’t about to judge her for her feelings. 

She turns the corner into the brig and isn’t surprised when Adora doesn’t see her right away because she’s so focused on the bag. Her jacket and her shirt are in a pile in the corner, and even though she’s only been down here for fifteen minutes there’s sweat dripping down her face and torso, collecting along her spine and soaking the back of her tight undershirt. The pace she’s putting herself through is relentless. Catra should’ve thought to bring a towel. 

“Hey,” she says, interrupting Adora’s intense concentration. Adora looks over, frowning, and smears an arm quickly across her face. Catra knows it’s not just sweat she’s wiping away, but makes the choice not to comment. “Brought you some dinner.”

“Smells amazing,” Adora says, a little out of breath. “We not eating with the rest of them?”

“We can if you want,” Catra says, carefully keeping her voice neutral. Truth be told, she knows she’ll be a little hurt if Adora rejects this offer of nostalgic one on one time, but she’s _trying_ to work on not being so possessive of Adora’s attention. If what Adora needs right now is to be surrounded by people, Catra doesn’t want to make her feel guilty for asking for it. Her awkward feelings about it are her own problem. “Thought you might want a little space tonight.” She also thinks it’ll just aggravate Adora’s guilt to see the empty spot at the table where Hordak should be.

“I swear sometimes it’s like you can read my mind,” Adora sighs, and that tiny bit of tension Catra was holding in her chest releases. Okay, good. “Is this for both of us?”

“If you eat this entire giant pile yourself, I’ll be impressed.” Adora smirks. “No, no, I take that back, that _was not_ a challenge.” 

“Are you _sure?”_ Adora says, snatching one of the dumplings off the plate and then immediately dropping it. “Ow! That’s hot.” Catra laughs and juggles the plate to balance on one hand so that she can take Adora’s wrist and look at the injured fingers. 

“Uh oh, pretty serious burn,” she teases - Adora’s fingers are fine, if maybe a little greasy now - “I think we’re gonna have to amputate.” 

“I think you’d regret their loss even more than I would,” Adora counters, her tone unexpectedly low and smirking. It knocks the smug grin right off of Catra’s face, sending a jolt of heat between her thighs. This isn’t exactly how she was expecting this conversation to go, but if that’s how Adora wants to shake herself out of the funk she’s in, well - ugh, no, concentrate, they both need to eat dinner first. Adora’s smirk spreads wider, her face flush with both exercise and victory now. “What, no comeback?” There’s something uniquely thrilling about the way the heat inside of her stomach coils tightly in response to Adora when she’s in this mood. It’s been this way as long as Catra can remember, this impulse - when Adora is acting cocky and self-assured, all Catra ever wants to do is to fight her, and to _lose._

“You can _come back_ with me to the bedroom,” Catra retorts - it’s not her best one, admittedly, but she’s working with a little less bandwidth than usual - “and make good on that fucking smirk you’re giving me right now - “ and this of course only makes Adora puff up _more_ \- “just as soon as you get some food into your stomach.” 

“What,” Adora chuckles darkly, taking the heavy plate from Catra with a single hand and moving it so that it’s no longer between their bodies, “wanna make sure I’ve got enough calories in me for a marathon?” Catra feels the fur of her body prickling with urgent excitement. This is hardly the first time Adora’s gotten flirty with her seemingly out of the blue, but the intensity of her hungry expression is definitely not an everyday thing. 

“You’d better shut up and eat those dumplings before I jump you right here and we end up traumatizing Wrong Hordak when they send him to check on us,” Catra purrs, sitting pointedly and tugging Adora’s free hand down as she goes. It’s not entirely a joke, with Adora all sweaty and swaggering in just her undershirt, her arms and neck and collar bones exposed and begging to be touched. Thankfully for Catra’s self control, Adora laughs and some of the edge comes off her body language. She joins Catra on the floor, sitting side by side, and puts the plate where they can both reach it. “They’re probably not so hot now,” Catra says, trying to focus her mind on the meal, and tries one of the dumplings. She didn’t bother bringing cutlery, so they both just eat with their hands. 

“These are really good,” Adora says, after stuffing one in her mouth. She swallows and a tiny bit of tension leaves her face. “Although you can really tell which ones are the ones I made,” she laughs, holding up an overstuffed one that has exploded half its filling and has distinctly uneven, differently sized pleats along the top. Catra can’t resist the temptation to say the first thing that comes to her mind.

“Is this where I’m supposed to reassure you that you’re good with your hands when it comes to other things?” She leans in, putting her mouth just a few inches from Adora’s ear, their bodies just barely not touching. “Because you know I’m willing to stroke your ego if you ask nicely enough.” Adora issues a shuddering exhale, her eyes locking onto Catra’s with renewed fire. Catra thinks for just the briefest moment that she’s regained the advantage when Adora settles her free hand on Catra’s thigh, resting it there in a casually possessive way that makes Catra feel dizzy with pleasure. 

“Do you want me to _ask,”_ Adora murmurs, her expression positively blazing with desire, “or do you want me to _make you?”_ Catra’s mouth actually falls open a little as Adora’s suggestion hits her, deftly plucking on some chord deep inside of her that thrums loudly and continues to resonate long after Adora’s words. They’ve played around with Catra taking charge during sex, especially after stretching sessions, and they’ve _talked_ about trying it with Adora in charge, but this is the first time Adora’s outright proposed it as a specific how-about-right-now kind of thing. 

“If I’d known bringing you dinner would get you this riled up, I’d have started doing it weeks ago,” Catra hedges, trying to collect herself, trying to stop her brain from melting out her ears while picturing what could possibly be waiting for her on the other side of this conversation. 

“That’s not an answer,” Adora says, and Catra is quietly grateful that her tone is playful and not reproachful. She’s not sure she could handle anything that sounds like Adora’s disapproval right now - which is… an interesting observation of her own mental state, actually. That might be something they have to discuss.

“Yeah,” Catra confesses finally, “I’d like that. That sounds, uh. Pretty great.” She’s blushing, she knows, and that’s almost as embarrassing as how quickly she’s metaphorically throwing herself at Adora’s feet. “But, uh - after we eat, yeah? I am actually really hungry. We skipped lunch today, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Adora says, and just like that the inferno of her gaze quiets down, tempered to patience. “It’s been a long day. You’re right - I’m hungry too.” She stuffs her own malformed dumpling into her mouth and reaches for another before she’s even started chewing. Catra can’t help but notice that the warm palm against her thigh hasn’t moved, but she’s very, very okay with that. 

“These _are_ pretty good,” Catra says, trying to come up with a subject of conversation to keep her mind from rabidly circling the thought of what she and Adora are going to try out once they’re back in the privacy of the bedroom. “Score one more for Bow’s dads and their family recipes.”

“Seriously,” Adora concurs, wolfing down another one with her usual bottomless appetite, “We’re going to need to find a way to thank them for sending Bow to space with that book of recipes. I didn’t even know there were this many different kinds of food.” 

“I should start making knives as my go-to gift for people,” Catra jokes, cupping her hand under a dumpling as she lifts it to her mouth, dripping dipping sauce as it goes. “Do something nice for me? You get a knife. Need a party gift? Knife.” Adora giggles.

“Wedding gift? Knife,” she contributes around a mouthful of half-chewed food. “Graduation ceremony? Knife. New baby? Knife.” 

“I don’t even know what half of those things are,” Catra remarks, after she finishes chewing and swallowing, because she’s not a _barbarian_ like Adora, “which I think makes it even more perfect if I just assume a knife is an appropriate gift.” 

“Oh _man,_ has nobody explained to you what _weddings_ are yet?” Adora asks excitedly, reaching for more food. The hand she’s got on Catra’s thigh gives an enthusiastic little squeeze. “Bow and Glimmer took me to one like a year and a half ago? They’re _really_ fun. They’re like parties, right?” She stuffs another dumpling into her mouth and only makes the barest pretense of chewing it before continuing. “Except the thing they’re celebrating isn’t like, a special day, or a victory or something.” She swallows, and continues somewhat more intelligibly: “It’s literally an entire party about how much two people love each other.”

“Ew,” Catra laughs, sucking some sauce off the end of a finger before reaching for another dumpling. “Why would anybody want all those people paying attention to them? That sounds so embarrassing. What makes you decide to just throw a party so everybody can watch you being gross with your partner?” Partner is a new word Catra’s learned since joining the Rebellion - or at least, its specific use for romantic partnerships is a new one to her. In the Horde if you had to allude to someone getting frisky with someone else, you’d just have called them fuckbuddies and been done with it. 

“It’s part of a ceremony! It’s like, this special event where the people who go act as like, witnesses for this really sweet promise that they make to each other. Bow cried the _entire_ time during the part where they recited the vows. And then after the wedding is done, those people are married, like Spinnerella and Netossa are. That’s what the promise part is about, they promise to be together forever.”

“Huh,” Catra muses, looking down at the plate. How is it already half empty? Adora sure can pack away food. “Did you go to their wedding?”

“No, they were already married way before - “ she stumbles, and grabs several dumplings with one hand to cover it. Catra knows she’d been about to say _before I left the Fright Zone,_ and it makes her feel a little weird that it’s still uncomfortable for them to talk about, but she appreciates that Adora is trying to be sensitive. “Before I met them. I actually have _no_ idea how old they are.” 

“What, do you have to be old to get married?” Catra is genuinely curious for reasons she is refusing to look too closely at right now. She distracts herself by snatching another dumpling - she can’t let Adora eat more than her fair share, of course. 

“I’m not sure? I didn’t actually know the people whose wedding I went to, but Bow said that’s not super unusual as long as you’re going with someone who _does_ know them. I don’t know if they just made that up because Glimmer wanted another excuse to get me to try on dresses, though.” Catra’s interest in the conversation fades as she watches Adora grab the last dumpling. Empty plate means they can go to the bedroom. Going to the bedroom means follow-through on the warm promise of that hand on her thigh. Adora sighs happily after she devours the last bit of food, wiping her mouth on the back of one gorgeous muscular forearm. “Okay. You were right. I needed that. I feel so much better.” Catra doesn’t have the heart to admit it was actually Glimmer’s point that Adora would be in a better mood once she had something to eat. 

“Good,” is all Catra says, before leaning in for a kiss. Adora picks up on what she’s asking for with the tilt of her body and angle of her face and meets her in the middle, catching her face with an outstretched hand. “Gross,” Catra chuckles, after the kiss, “you’re gonna get dumpling grease in my fur with your oily fingers.” 

“Mm, my bad,” Adora murmurs wickedly, pulling back and wearing a smirk as she puts her own fingers in her mouth and sucks them clean _entirely_ too sensually. It’s all Catra can do to watch, choking down her own impulsive commentary of _I could have done that for you._ Instead, when Adora finishes, Catra turns her head and presents the side of her face that Adora was touching, pointing to the fingerprint smears on her cheek with a clear challenge. Adora’s eyes flash and her grin gets wider, and suddenly she’s holding Catra’s chin in an iron grip, practically in Catra’s lap as she presses her mouth against the indicated spot. Even though she was the one who suggested Adora do it, Catra gasps when it actually happens. When Adora keeps kissing and licking her way down to Catra’s jaw, the sound becomes a whine and then a frustrated, stifled moan. 

“Can we go to the bedroom now?” She somehow says, hardly able to hear herself over the thumping of her own heart. Adora pulls away, her expression heady, maybe even a little dreamy. Then that sharp focus returns, and she’s smirking again. Damn that smirk, it _never_ fails to make Catra’s body clench with longing. 

“You take the plate back to the kitchen, I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.” Catra’s body responds to the commanding tone with a rush of white-hot desire. 

“You got it, boss,” she attempts to joke, but the words come out just a little too breathy to pass as smug.

“Good girl,” Adora whispers in her ear, and those two words just about make Catra unravel. Her breath catches and her limbs feel like they’re suddenly filled with brilliantly shining stars, like she’s weightless and a thousand pounds all at the same time. Adora flashes her a smile, breaking out of the smug, in-control persona in a moment of excited, sincere vulnerability. Toes curling with anticipation, Catra pushes forward to press one quick kiss of unspoken thanks to Adora’s mouth before snatching up the plate and the little dish of dipping sauce.

“Race you there,” she says, voice husky with her own undisguised feelings.


	32. Tell

**Adora**

“Before we do this,” Catra says gently, pulling out of the heated kiss and letting her head rest against the closed door of their bedroom, “can we talk?” Fear pricks a neat little hole into Adora’s inflated confidence, and she feels her shoulders droop. 

“Yeah,” she says, releasing her rough grip on Catra’s wrists and trying to disguise her instant panic, “what do you want to talk about?” Catra pushes up off the door and Adora backs up to let her pass.

“Come sit with me?” Catra says, crossing the room to their bed. Adora tries not to be too obviously alarmed; she’d been envisioning a heated blur of new experiences she could pour her residual adrenaline into, not a terrifyingly vague request to talk. She goes and joins Catra on the bed, sitting woodenly with her legs over the side. 

“Quit that,” Catra says, the words sharp but harmless, like a flicked finger to the forehead, and they jarr Adora out of her thoughts just as effectively as one. 

“Quit what?” she asks, as Catra climbs up onto the bed behind her, planting a knee on either side of Adora’s waist and setting her hands on Adora’s shoulders. 

“Freaking out. I can see you doing it.”

“I am n - _oh,”_ Adora’s denial melts away as one of Catra’s knuckles presses hard into a knot in the muscle of her neck. This is a dirty trick, massaging her neck while initiating some kind of serious-ish conversation. “Okay, fine, what did you wanna talk about?” If Catra rubs her neck too long her brain is going to flip back over into that comfortable place where she just wants Catra to take over and let her mind go totally blank. 

“I wanna make sure you’re suggesting this because it’s actually something you want,” Catra says softly, her words a gentle counterpoint to the ruthless press of her knuckles. “The whole plan with having dinner in the brig was to give you a chance to talk about what’s got you so upset.” It feels like there’s more Catra wants to say, but she doesn’t follow it up with anything, so Adora supposes that’s her cue to answer the question. She sighs, trying hard to let Catra’s touch actually relax her. It’s difficult. She’s still not very good at relaxing.

“It’s just more of the same,” she confesses, looking across the room at the daily schedule sketched out on their wall. “I feel shitty that I wasn’t the one there, that I put my friends in danger.”

“Since when is Hordak your _friend?”_ Catra interjects playfully.

“I meant the other two,” Adora retorts, smiling for a moment before the expression falls again at the thought of Hordak. “The mission was a success, but it’s bothering me that he’s managed to hide this whole ‘genetic defect’ thing from us the entire time. Like - I _get_ why he would have wanted to keep it secret from us, obviously he wouldn’t trust us with information about himself that we could use to our advantage if we were, you know, bad people. But Entrapta didn’t tell us either. And the fact that I didn’t _notice_ after us all living together on this ship for an entire month… I don’t know.” She hisses in pain as Catra finds an especially awful knot in her shoulders; Catra apologizes with a quick kiss to the back of her neck and softens her kneading slightly. “And I feel guilty and helpless about not being there to protect them, having to sit back and watch while they do things that are really, seriously dangerous… I guess I’m starting to sympathize a little more with how you felt back on Denebria.” Catra chuffs, although whether the sound is amusement or annoyance is hard to tell without seeing her face.

“Look at you,” Catra says warmly, voice filled with praise, “talking about your feelings.” 

“You’re the one who asked me to!” Adora splutters indignantly. Catra chuckles and kisses the back of one of Adora’s ears; the gesture makes her feel warm inside. 

“So why the sudden interest in wanting to be the boss tonight?” Catra prompts, without slowing the wonderful movement of her hands, excavating tension from Adora’s body inch by inch. “I kind of figured you wouldn’t be in the mood for anything for a couple days, with the mission on your mind. Why now?” 

“I’d been thinking about it for a while,” Adora says, suddenly shy. She dances around naming _it_ explicitly. Fantasies about being obeyed, about the thrill of someone wanting to please her, wanting to be obedient. It feels like something uncomfortably close to what she almost became in the Horde, when she phrases it in those terms, but she doesn’t know any better words for it, so she avoids any words at all and hopes Catra will know what she means. “I uh - it’s - “ She fights against her own shame, afraid on some level that Catra will be freaked out by the thought of Adora getting off to the thought of her in such a compliant, subservient role, but there’s no response from Catra except that steady, patient massaging. “I feel - you know - _bossy_ \- a lot, right after I’ve just finished working out,” she blurts, knowing she must be turning red. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Catra purrs, and the breathy little chuckle she tacks on at the end makes Adora’s arousal stir back to life. “You always go right to the shower after you’re done, though, and by the time you’re out of the shower it’s usually out of your system.” 

“I didn’t realise I was so obvious,” Adora laughs sheepishly. 

“Your big dumb smirk is like the least subtle tell in the entire galaxy,” Catra teases, her hands slipping away from Adora’s shoulders. Adora twists to look at her as she scoots up the bed, flopping back into the pillows and flashing Adora an inviting grin. Adora grins back at her reflexively, kicks her shoes off, and then climbs up onto the bed with her. Once they’re side by side, Adora props her head up on an arm so she can look down at Catra, for… no particular reason, of course. “See,” Catra says triumphantly, “there’s the smirk.” Adora tries to fight the expression down into cool neutrality, but she can’t pull it off. Catra just… makes her feel like this, sometimes. Smug, playful, giddy... _powerful._ It doesn’t feel shameful when Catra is smiling up at her like this. 

“Are we done talking yet?” Adora asks, putting as much innuendo as possible into the question. Catra’s grin falls away and she reaches for Adora’s face, stroking her cheek. 

“You’re not just doing this to distract yourself from the thing with Hordak?” Catra’s eyes reveal more of her fears and insecurities than she probably realizes. Just like that, Adora understands why Catra stopped things to talk first. She doesn’t want to just be a distraction, an escape. If she’s going to trust Adora with this incredible vulnerability, with _surrender,_ she doesn’t want it to be because she’s being used as a diversion. Guilt stabs through Adora so hard that she has to push down an answering rush of tears. The fact that Catra feels like she has to worry about that at all with Adora is a painful indictment of her behaviour. She needs to do better about reassuring Catra that she’s loved, that she’s treasured, that Adora isn’t going to get bored of her and discard her. She cups Catra’s face in her hand, mirroring Catra’s gentle hold on her own jaw, and leans in close. 

“You’re not a distraction. You’ve never been a distraction. You’re my best friend, and I love you. I have no idea how I got lucky enough to get to do something like this with you, but I promise not to take your trust for granted.” Catra swallows hard, eyes flicking between Adora and the walls of the room, like she can’t bear to maintain eye contact while Adora’s talking like this. Her eyes have the sheen of unshed tears, which is what Adora suspects her own eyes look like right now.

“Okay,” Catra says softly, moving the hand she has on Adora’s jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. Adora kisses her softly, without any ferocity, because she’s not sure if this is the start of things or just an interlude in their pre-things talk. She feels Catra smile against her mouth, probably laughing at her for the cautious tenderness. Adora pulls away so that she can look at her, reassuring herself with the sight of the crooked grin Catra’s wearing. Catra takes a deep breath - the kind you’d use to banish lingering doubts and threatening tears - and then tugs Adora in for another kiss. This one is rough, urgent, affirmative. This one has teeth and gasping and tongue and leaves Adora breathless. When Catra releases the back of her head and settles back down against the mattress, regarding her with hooded eyes and a dangerous smile, all signs of distress seem to have vanished.

“So,” Catra says, her wide pupils giving away the undercurrent of excitement she’s disguising with her casual tone, “I dunno exactly what you had in mind for tonight, and, uh - “ she swallows, and Adora’s eyes are drawn to the column of her throat by the moment, “I’d be okay with you doing anything we’ve already done before, but uh. Can we agree that any like, insults and stuff like that are off the table?” Adora’s eyebrows go up. Catra has never insulted her - okay, maybe a little gentle, affectionate teasing - while she’s been the one in charge, or as any sort of sexual thing, so Adora’s not totally sure where this is coming from in terms of something she’s afraid of Adora doing. 

“I won’t,” she assures her, drawing the pad of her thumb from the edge of Catra’s mouth to the line of her jaw. “Is, uh, stuff like what I said back in the brig okay?” Catra looks up at her coyly. 

“Like what?” 

“Like, uh. _Good girl.”_ Her ears are probably going red, saying those words outside of the context of a sexually charged conversation. Catra’s eyes flutter shut and an automatic little smile appears on her face. Apparently the words have an impact on her even without that context. Adora can hardly blame her; it’s always a rush whenever Catra says them to her. 

“Yeah,” Catra whispers, her eyes cracking open so that she can fix Adora with a look that is two parts desire and three parts vulnerability. “That’s definitely okay.” Something inside of Adora roars to life. When Catra looks up at her with that soft expression, like she would wait a thousand years if it meant hearing Adora speak, it makes the constant chatter of Adora’s insecurities go quiet for a while, gives her the same kind of sturdy protective feeling of self-assurance that being She-Ra does. 

“Anything else?” Adora asks, whisper-soft. 

“That’s it.” It’s not a big demand, to be treated kindly and not used as a distraction. It still feels like an enormous accomplishment that Catra actually made them stop and talk it out before jumping into things. And, hey, aside from it being the healthy thing to do, Adora knows from her own experiences with surrendering to Catra that it’ll be easier to stop thinking and give in if you’ve already talked through whatever you’re worried about.

“I love you,” Adora reiterates warmly, brushing her fingertips along the line where Catra’s neck meets her jaw. Purring fills the air between them. 

“I love you too,” Catra says, like a hushed confession to be uttered only in a sacred place. 

“You ready?” Her cautious inquiry makes Catra quirk a little grin at her. 

“Lay it on me, tough stuff, I’m ready,” she purrs, the insincere mockery an open invitation for Adora to test her mettle against. It’s a familiar gesture - a playful jab that serves as the request for a wrestling match, physical, verbal, or… otherwise. It makes Adora laugh, and she’s almost surprised to hear the sound of her laughter feels different; deeper, darker, smoother. Catra notices too, from the way her breathing changes. Adora’s eyes go to the rise and fall of Catra’s chest. A giddy little rush zaps through her at the thought that since she’s in charge, she could literally just sit here and stare at Catra’s torso if she wants to. Mmm, well, that’s as good a place to start as any.

“Take your clothes off,” Adora says, firm and loving and utterly ravenous. Catra reacts to her tone with a flattering little noise, and it’s just fuel on the flame of Adora’s arousal. Catra’s hands rush to grip the hem of her shirt. “Slowly,” Adora adds, relishing the delicious play of emotion across Catra’s face that the single word causes, “I want to watch you.” Another almost-whimper escapes Catra. This is… incredible. Adora has no idea why they didn’t try this sooner. 

As Catra sits up on her knees to better disrobe, Adora steals the pillow out from under her and stacks herself a little pile to lean back on. Then, deciding that Catra off to the side is not as good of a view as Catra directly in front of her, she puts a palm on either side of Catra’s hips and manhandles her over to kneel between Adora’s legs. The forceful repositioning has the effect Adora’d hoped it would - not only is Catra now directly in her line of sight so that Adora can recline on her stack of pillows and cross her arms smugly behind her head while she watches, the movement itself seems to have turned Catra on even more. She looks at Adora with a glazed, heady expression, and Adora smirks back up at her. 

“Clothes off,” Adora reminds her. Catra swallows and once more takes the edge of her shirt. It’s unimaginably potent, watching her go slow, knowing she’s doing exactly what Adora told her to without even pretending to put up a fight. It makes Adora feel… honored, maybe? Trusted. Loved. There is so, so much in this quiet moment of Catra lifting her shirt up and tossing it off to the side, watching Adora as she does. This isn’t just sex. This has never been just sex. 

“Good girl,” Adora says softly, pulling one of her arms from out behind her head so that she can place an approving stroke of her fingertips down Catra’s thigh. Catra shudders and exhales hard, her eyes squeezing shut briefly. Adora can hardly believe this is really happening. It feels more magical than literally anything she’s ever experienced. “Keep going.” Catra’s eyes come open again and Adora watches hungrily as she peels off her undershirt, leaving her torso finally bare. She’s so beautiful. Adora thinks she could live forever in the curve of Catra’s back and the delicate lines of her breasts. Her hand slides away from Catra’s thigh so that she can work free of her pants and her stockings, and as she does this Adora indulges in something carnal she’s never allowed herself to do before: she doesn’t even bother glancing up at Catra’s eyes, doesn’t even try to pretend she isn’t running her gaze greedily over Catra’s body. She just _looks,_ and ignores the voice in her head that suggests there should be some time limit to how long she can do that before it’s impolite. 

Oh, and Catra notices. Adora doesn’t need to make eye contact to hear the stuttering way Catra is breathing, to see the antsy twitching of Catra’s tail, to see the glisten between her legs. Once Catra’s fully naked and positioned once more on her knees between Adora’s relaxed legs, Adora meets her stare again. 

“Good girl.” She wields the words like a cudgel, delighting in the force of their impact. Catra whimpers and licks her lips, and oh, the surge of _power_ Adora feels to have this incredible woman yield to her like this, it’s _indescribable._ It’s so delicious of a feeling that it _must_ be wrong, but the steady look of love in Catra’s eyes keeps her from believing it. “Put your arms behind your back, hands on your elbows,” Adora says, giving voice to a specific part of the fantasies she’s been having during those post-workout showers. Catra does as told, which continues to shock and delight Adora, and the posture leaves her more exposed than ever, chest pushed out, neck craned, shoulders back. 

“Good girl,” Adora says again, already thoroughly addicted to the way the phrase makes Catra react, and she isn’t disappointed; Catra utters another one of those wonderful, strangled little noises. “You’re so beautiful.” It feels easier to say when they’re like this, inhibitions stripped away by the hot throb of confidence pulsing through her body right now. She gets to do whatever she wants, because that’s what Catra wants her to do, which means she’s allowed to say the things that cross her mind, allowed to give in to the urges to look and touch and ask for what she wants. That’s the way this game works, and it affords her a freedom she’s never experienced before. Catra’s mouth opens just a little, like she thinks she might argue or try to deflect with some clever remark, but it seems like her brain is already too scrambled. Adora brings herself up to sitting, closing some of the distance between them, and takes Catra’s head in both her hands, luxuriating in the possessive, exploratory grasp. This face has captivated her for nearly twenty years, and now she’s been given permission to touch her in all the ways she’s ever wanted to. Her body reels with the joy of it; it’s like the point of being tipsy where you feel impossibly charismatic, invincible in your tingling inebriation. 

She splays her fingers wide, wanting to cover as much of Catra with her touch as possible, wanting to map out mouth and jaw and cheek and brow all at once. To know her, to hold her, to own her. Her thumb brushes across Catra’s lips, and when they part willingly Adora doesn’t even hesitate before pressing her thumb inside Catra’s mouth. She _feels_ the vibration of Catra moaning around her thumb. Her mouth is hot and soft and yielding, a pocket dimension where every good sensation in the world is concentrated down into one small, silky paradise. It feels so nice that it actually reminds Adora of having Catra’s mouth between her legs, except that now Adora can touch her back. _Good girl,_ she whispers, and the keening in Catra’s throat makes the feeling even more wonderful. She curls the fingers of her hand under Catra’s jaw, prying down with the lightest of pressure, and Catra opens her mouth wider, giving Adora as much access as she wants.

Adora presses her thumb in further, tracing a few light circles across Catra’s tongue before angling her hand over to the side, curiously touching her teeth. Catra’s fangs have always been a source of interest to Adora, and so now she takes the opportunity to indulge in exploration of them, gently tracing them from gum to tip, feeling the broad curve of the front and gliding up the smooth flat of the back. She notices that Catra is trembling, and her confidence stumbles. Catra’d said Adora could do anything they’d already done before - this is definitely not something they’ve done before. She withdraws her hand quickly, realizing her error. Guilt and shame rush to occupy the space that has been suddenly vacated by the wondrous tranquility of a moment ago. 

“Are you okay?” Her brows furrow and she studies Catra’s face for any signs of discomfort, but she just looks kind of dazed and relaxed. 

“M’good,” Catra murmurs, blinking hard to bring herself back up and find the words. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s just that we never talked about me doing that,” Adora says, trying to stay calm, trying to hold onto the comfortable, slow heat of the moment. 

“You’re allowed to touch me,” Catra laughs dreamily, and turns her head to press a reassuring kiss to Adora’s knuckles. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. ‘Kay?” 

“Okay,” Adora says, smiling back at Catra and feeling the rising dread ease back down again. This is Catra, after all. She’s never been very good at pretending to tolerate something that’s aggravating her. Tentatively, the confidence returns. She runs her hands from Catra’s face down to her neck, then to her chest. Catra’s eyes slip closed again and she arches into the touch, offering Adora an incredible view. She touches Catra, and each quiet noise her exploration brings restores that swaggering certainty. Her mind slides back to her original intention, and she decides that’s something she wants to have. So that Catra won’t be surprised or saddened by the sudden loss of Adora’s touch - which is a thing Adora has learned she’s sensitive to when Catra’s got her deep into that pliant state of surrender - she presses a kiss to her sternum and says: “Be good for me and hold still. I want to look at you.” Then she pulls her hands away and leans back once more against the pillows, drinking in the sight of Catra. 

The first thing she notices is the heavy, aroused cadence of Catra’s breathing; the second thing she notices is the expression of raw, unguarded emotion in Catra’s face. It’s a lot to try to decipher, but it seems generally good, if a little overwhelmed. The _third_ thing she notices is that what started as a glisten of moisture between Catra’s legs is now a dangling string of arousal, and the sight of it fills her heart with love and her mouth with saliva and her core with blazing heat. 

_“Such_ a good girl,” she growls, tearing her eyes away reluctantly from the wildly flattering and appealing vision of Catra’s undeniable approval. Catra blushes and her knees twitch, like she wants to close her legs and hide from Adora’s scrutiny, and Adora’s hands shoot out reflexively to hold her thighs in place. “Don’t you dare,” she whispers, smirking up Catra, and this only makes Catra whimper and cant her head back. Adora allows her gaze to caress gluttonously down the exposed stretch of Catra’s throat and then linger on her breasts. What would her seventeen year old self think, if someone had tried to tell her that one day instead of fighting the urge to sneak peeks in the locker room, she’d be staring openly, looking as long as she wanted to? Catra’s breathing _so_ hard, and all Adora is doing is looking at her, holding her there to be ravished by Adora’s inescapable gaze.

All at once, Adora _has_ to have her. 

“Come here,” she commands, sliding her hands around demandingly to Catra’s ass and pulling her up. “Sit on my face.” In any other situation, she’d choke on those words; suffused with the burning thrill of Catra’s total obedience, they roll off her tongue without an ounce of uncertainty or embarrassment. As Catra scrambles to do as she’s told, Adora reaches behind her head and shucks one of the pillows so that the angle of her head isn’t so severe. “Good girl,” she breathes, as Catra’s thighs settle to either side of her jaw, and then she delves in with urgent, throbbing desire. Catra gasps and swears and bucks, and Adora pulls back just enough to say _let me hear you_ before pressing her mouth back into her. She settles her hands on the backs of Catra’s thighs, just along the line where they meet her ass, and holds Catra ruthlessly in place as she finds her clit. Catra gets _loud_ \- louder than Adora’s ever heard her - and it only makes Adora more smug and pleased with herself, the thought that she’s managed to tear down enough of Catra’s walls that even her cries of pleasure are more uninhibited.

Driven to a state of ravenous desire for Catra, immersed in the smell and sound and utter vulnerability of her, Adora works quickly and pointedly with her tongue. Catra jerks and gasps and whimpers against her, and Adora keeps her there firmly with her unyielding grip, pushing her unstoppably towards climax. When it comes, it feels like Catra is trying to crush her skull between her tightly trembling thighs, but that doesn’t deter Adora, and when she keeps going she is rewarded with a sudden spread of warmth across her face, a wetness dripping down her chin and neck. Catra heaves a ragged gasp, shaking, shaking, and then she sags, and all at once her hands are in Adora’s hair, pulling her face away. Adora complies mindlessly, leaning back into the pillow, feeling the coolness of the air against her face. She looks down. She’s drenched. The slow, creeping smirk that spreads across her face at the realization is, she suspects, one for the ages. Catra is still catching her breath, doesn’t seem to have noticed. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Adora says softly, putting a hand on Catra’s hip and guiding her down and into the bed. She directs Catra a little further away from Adora’s side, closer to the wall, and then shuffles in to join her there so they can cuddle on a part of the bed that hasn’t recently acquired a huge wet spot. Catra makes a wordless sound and takes Adora’s hand and tugs it towards herself; Adora takes the hint and wraps herself around Catra, holding her close and spooning her. “How do you feel?” she whispers. 

“Mhm,” Catra manages, which is not quite an answer, but she’s smiling. Adora snuggles closer into her, tangling their legs together. 

“You were very good for me,” she says, low and brimming with adoration. Catra reacts to that with a full-body shiver and a little noise in her throat; her tail wraps tightly around Adora’s ankle. Adora places kisses across Catra’s shoulders, whispering praise in between each one. “You’re so good,” and, “I love you,” and, “I’m so proud of you,” and, “You make me so happy,” until Catra is sighing blissfully with each one. It takes five, maybe ten minutes, and then eventually Catra croaks,

“You’re such a sentimental goober.” 

“You love it,” Adora says triumphantly, and then, grinning against Catra’s neck, adds, “and I’ve got a puddle on my side of the bed to prove it.” 

“Gross,” Catra laughs, pulling Adora’s arm tighter around herself. After a beat, she turns her head back towards Adora to meet her eyes, smiling with a soft contentedness. “I love you,” she says, and Adora wonders how she ever lived without Catra in her life like this.

“I love you too,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to Catra’s lips. Catra starts purring, and she’s still purring when she settles back into their cuddling position.

“Dibs on not being the one to take the sheets to the washer,” she declares sleepily. Adora laughs at her; she’s warm and happy and comfortable and feeling, frankly, kind of incredible. 

“Sure,” she chuckles, without any resistance. All she wants right now is to take care of Catra and make her feel loved; if that includes a walk of shame down to the washing machine in the engine room, well. She’ll gladly make that embarrassing journey any day of the week.


	33. Second Chances

**Wrong Hordak**

It is morning, which means Entrapta has only recently gone to bed and will not be awake yet. This means she isn’t in the infirmary with Hordak, giving the traveller the opportunity to speak with him alone. He has no scruples about speaking his mind with others listening, but has observed that Hordak behaves differently depending on which members of the crew are present. He hopes that attempting this conversation without an audience will give him the best odds of a positive outcome. Still, Hordak groans in a tone of what the traveller has learned is _annoyance_ when he sees his visitor. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Hordak grumbles, without stirring from his bed. There is a quiet beeping in the background of the large number of monitors he is hooked up to, but other than that they have only the ambient noises of the ship to interrupt them. 

“I have brought you breakfast,” the traveller says, careful to omit the _my brother_ that reflexively tries to add itself to the end of the sentence. He holds up the offering; delicious savory protein tubes, pan-crisped carbohydrate cubes, and fresh slices of sweet, tangy produce. 

“That is not necessary,” Hordak says dryly, lifting an arm and pointing to the tube that is delivering essential fluids and nutrients to his bloodstream. 

“I thought that perhaps it would be a more pleasant experience. These flavors seem to have agreed with you in the past. And - and surely, it must be monotonous. I thought it might be nice to have a minor disruption to - to the tedium?” Hordak maintains an unimpressed facade as the traveller offers this breakfast plate, giving him reason to doubt his hypothesis that bringing food would be a welcome gesture. Perhaps this is a reconciliation method that only works on Brother Adora. From her dramatically improved mood this morning, it had seemed to him that he could perhaps replicate Brother Catra’s very successful methods. Would it have been better if he had brought dumplings? 

“Well, bring it over, then!” Hordak snaps, and this makes him jump and nearly drop the plate. 

“Yes, of course,” he stammers, carrying it carefully to Hordak’s bedside. Hordak readjusts in the bed so that he is sitting, and the loose sheet slips away from his torso, revealing the sickly condition of his skin. Hordak sees the traveller looking, snarls, and jerks the blanket back up to cover himself before snatching the plate of food. Fortunately the convenient shapes of these breakfast items mean that cutlery is not necessary. Hordak plucks a crisped cube and raises it to his mouth, and then casts a glance over at his guest. 

“Why are you still here?” 

“For - forgive me, Hordak.” There, he forces his mouth to use just the name in the place that normally would be comfortably occupied by _my brother,_ and clutches his hands behind his back simply to have something to do with them. “I do not wish to disturb your rest for long. But I wanted to express my gratitude to you.” Hordak narrows his eyes and lowers the cube back to his plate. 

“Express your gratitude? What _for?”_

“Why,” he answers, surprised that it is not self-evident, “for protecting me from Doctor Callix. It was all rather a blur, but - I believe you saved my life.” Emotion falls away from Hordak’s face, and he becomes impossible to read. He says nothing, for a while. Then he utters a little growl, and wrenches his gazes down to his plate of food. 

“I am tired. Leave me.”

“Of course, - “ he chokes down the air that nearly forms the forbidden words. It is so difficult with Hordak, because surely Hordak _is_ his brother, in so many multitudes of ways. But Hordak has chosen a preferred form of address, and it is simply the only correct thing to do to respect that. Was there more he wanted to say, before he left? More he had been hoping for, from this conversation? He is not certain. But the conversation has been ended and he has been dismissed, so he turns to leave. 

“Thank you,” Hordak says, very quietly, as he’s crossing the threshold back out into the hallway, “for the breakfast.” The traveller pauses, and turns back to offer a smile. 

“You are welcome,” he says, and then leaves Hordak to eat in peace. 

  
  


**Entrapta**

Hordak seems to be in a slightly better condition today. He’s complaining roughly thirty-three percent less, which Entrapta assumes means that he’s experiencing a reduction in residual pain. Hordak’s unwillingness to accurately self-report his pain levels has been a consistent struggle in her attempts to diagnose what accommodations he needs. And he _will_ be getting accommodations; her sleep cycle has suffered for it, but her progress on a new exosuit is already coming along nicely. Speaking of which…

“Well, I’d better be getting back down to the engine room. I’d work up here with you to keep an eye on your monitor readouts, but there really just isn’t space for all the tools I need.” The infirmary is hardly more than a closet; it wasn’t allocated a whole lot of space, considering She-Ra has magical healing powers. 

“I will be fine without you,” Hordak says dismissively, lowering himself back into the bed now that she’s finished removing the last of the testing apparatus. “I do not need to be coddled.” 

“There’s nothing shameful about letting people take care of you when you’re injured,” she tells him absently, gathering up the data pad containing this afternoon’s test results. “Oh!” She turns to him with a broad grin, feeling a little triumphant. “I think you’ll find this entertaining.” He looks up from where he’s prodding at one of his ribs, fixing her with a quizzical expression. “Guess where I salvaged the parts from for your new suit’s synapse simulation cells?” He looks thoughtful, and then starts to chuckle wickedly.

“Callix’s data pad?”

“Yyyyyep.” He grins at her; she beams at him. Typically her tendency to recycle tech is an apolitical act of practicality, but there is something very satisfying about this particular repurposing. “Anyways, I have _so_ much work to do incorporating what I’ve learned from these readings. I’ll come check on you in a couple hours, okay?” 

“I will attempt to get some rest.” 

“Good!” 

She swings by the kitchen for one of their dwindling supply of long shelf-life pre-made tiny snacks and selects a box of miniature apple tarts. This accomplished, she hauls herself into the vents and heads down to the engine room. There is so, so much work to be done. She loses herself in the list of tasks and as a result isn’t sure of how much time has passed when she notices somebody clambering down the ladder into her workspace. 

“Is it dinner time already?” She asks, giving Catra only a brief glance before returning her attention to the screen full of chemical formula tests for various potential polymer blends she’s planning to have Darla produce samples of. 

“No,” Catra says, and that’s odd, because why else would she be here? Maybe she needs to run another load of laundry; she and Adora seem to go through bedding much faster than everyone else on the ship. Likely a result of shed fur accumulation; she’s already had to change the filter on their air recycler once because it was nearly clogged with orange hair. She returns to her work, considering the balance between the reaction time of the embedded electronics and the inherent potential supportiveness of the polymer, and the tradeoffs that might be made by one material over another. Really, this is likely a matter of needing physical samples to hand; the data is so vast that it may just come down to a question of personal preference on Hordak’s part. She’ll have to turn on Darla’s materials extruder to get the nozzle up to temperature while she prepares the files for print, so she turns around to do that and is surprised to find Catra lounging in the chair that Hordak normally sits in.

“Oh! You’re still here! You weren’t saying something, were you?” 

“No,” Catra says. “I can leave if you want, I don’t wanna bug you.”

“I literally did not even know you were there,” Entrapta says, tapping the interface for the print bed and initiating its warming sequence. “Did you need something?” She’s not trying to be brusque; it’s a genuine question. Sometimes people assume she understands their needs when really it would be better if they said it explicitly. 

“No, no, I just. Uh. Adora’s up in the brig training and Glimmer’s in there doing her magic stuff, and I thought maybe I’d come hang out with you.”

“Hm.” Entrapta sets the nozzle temperature to four hundred degrees and then returns to her main computer to start adjusting the settings for her polymer blend prints. “That’s a departure from your normal behaviour. Adora and Glimmer use the brig for training every day that isn’t a rest day, and this is the first time you’ve come down here to socialize.” She occupies herself with parcelling out the different variables for each material sample. If she’s going to do this more than once, maybe it would make more sense to write a program to automatically select the combination of filaments needed based on the intended chemical makeup of the final product. Doing it manually for three samples isn’t too time consuming, but maybe it would be more efficient to spend the time writing a program if she expects to be doing it more than just this one time. Pondering the issue passes the time while Catra pauses without saying anything. Eventually, the conversation continues.

“I was avoiding Hordak. It’s kind of a small space down here, and he and I don’t exactly… like each other.” 

“Oh! So you’re visiting now because he’s in the infirmary instead of in the engine room. That’s an interesting piece of data, I’ll have to add that to my ship crew social dynamics flowchart!” She pulls up the chart on another screen and makes a little note to integrate this new factor. It’s already a very complex chart, but it’s a helpful reference for Entrapta. “So, what did you want to talk about?” 

“Uh. Well. Why, uh.” She isn’t sure why Catra is stumbling over her words - possibilities include uncertainty, shyness, conflicting emotions, distraction, and at least twelve other different potential complicating variables. “Why don’t you tell me about whatever you’re working on right now?” 

“You’re interested in biotech polymer blends?” Entrapta asks, surprised by this. “You’ve never expressed any interest in my work before, unless it was for some kind of weapon.”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ll be able to really follow much of what you’re talking about. I just… miss spending time with you, is all. If it’s not too much of a distraction, I know you’re really busy right now. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.” 

“Oh, it’s not a bother, I can tune out all sorts of things when I’m working,” Entrapta assures her with the wave of a lock of hair. She pauses, really _thinks_ about what Catra is saying. Operating almost of their own will, her hands fly to a side screen and pull up her old files on her accumulation of friendship related metrics during her time in the Horde. She taps on Catra’s name. Yes, that’s what she thought. There’s a period of roughly a year when the proportion of Catra’s non-sleeping hours spent in Entrapta’s presence ranged from 50 to 90%. “I suppose there was a time when your presence in my lab was the norm and not the exception. But even then, you never asked me to talk about my work if it didn’t provide a personal benefit to you. What I’m working on right now is a supportive exosuit for Hordak to aid him in better management of his chronic condition. That doesn’t benefit you at all.” 

“Yeah, but. You like to talk about your work. It makes you happy.”

“It does!” She minimizes the window with the social data and returns her attention to the print file prep. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re asking about it.” 

“I’m trying to be a better friend, I guess. Even if I don’t always get exactly what you’re talking about, it’s… uh. Y’know. I guess. Nice? To see you excited about it?” That sounds like a question, not a statement, like Catra is working through a hypothesis out loud and maybe needs a little more time to develop it. “I’m not totally, uh… sure how to say this. Maybe it’s that… I’ve been thinking about how I kind of miss what it was like, back when I had you and Scorpia with me in the Horde, and trying to deal with like… the fact that what we were doing was _bad,_ and was hurting people, so am I actually allowed to miss it? And anyways I was talking to _Bow_ about it, and he asked, like, what were the good things about it that I missed? What parts of it were making me happy? And I told him that sometimes it was just kind of nice to be around you guys, even if I was always really distracted with… y’know, Horde stuff.” Catra’s rambling, but that’s okay. Entrapta started recording the conversation about five minutes ago, so she can revisit it later and pull out as much understanding from it as possible. “But it was nice having you two around, and I realized while I was talking to Bow that I always kinda liked that you just didn’t really give a shit about the Horde _or_ the Rebellion, you just did the things that made you happy, and maybe I was sort of jealous of that, a little? But also at the same time, it was just sort of… good to be around someone who was happy, and not miserable, because I think - I think even Scorpia was miserable, even though she was constantly trying to act all, you know, peppy and positive. I think you might’ve been the first person I’d ever met that genuinely liked their life.” Entrapta waits a bit to ensure Catra’s done, summarizes in her mind what she’s pretty sure Catra’s just said, and then glances over her shoulder to look at Catra for the first time since she climbed down into the engine room.

“I’ve missed you too,” she says simply, with a smile, and then turns back to her work. “Right now I’m trying to decide if it’s faster to do a series of processes manually, or to invest some time up front to write a program that will handle those processes for me automatically.”

“The second one sounds smart to me, if it’s a thing you expect to do often enough to justify the automation.” Aha! This is why she likes Catra - she follows more than you’d expect, a lot of the time. “Why do something yourself if you can get a robot to do it for you, right?” This makes Entrapta look back at Catra again, grinning broadly at her. 

“Ex _actly.”_

  
  


**Glimmer**

“And _that’s_ why you should never go to a fondue party hosted by anybody from Plumeria,” she concludes with a dramatic flourish. Wrong Hordak’s eyes are wide as he absorbs this piece of wisdom; they’ve been getting bigger and bigger as Glimmer made her way through the anecdote, so by this point she’s surprised his face isn’t eighty percent eyeball. 

“Duly noted,” he says, in a slightly trembling tone. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Bow has his fist to his mouth, holding back laughter. Bow loves this story, which is part of why Glimmer decided to tell it to Wrong Hordak while waiting for Bow to finish dinner. 

“Smells good in here,” Adora says, sticking her head into the multiroom. She does a quick scan. “Anybody seen Catra?” Her hair is damp - she must have just finished showering after her workout. Glimmer is grateful that her magic study and practice doesn’t leave her nasty and sweaty every afternoon; her skin dries out awfully after using the ship’s harsh, utilitarian showers more than a couple times a week. She’d run out of moisturizer halfway to Etheria if she showered as much as Adora does. 

“I think she’s down in the engine room,” Bow says, poking his head out of the kitchen to give Adora a meaningful grin. Adora doesn’t seem to follow what he’s getting at.

“She’s talking to Entrapta,” Glimmer adds, and this makes the pieces click together in Adora’s mind and draws a sudden, loving smile out of her. 

“Awww,” Adora sighs happily, putting a hand over her mouth. “Is she? She didn’t say anything to me about it this morning.”

“I think it was an impulse decision when she realized Hordak would be taking it easy in the med bay for a while,” Bow says, retreating back into the kitchen to resume stirring his roux. His voice carries easily over the happy bubbling of the various things he’s got going on the stove. “She asked me if it seemed like a bad idea to just randomly show up in the engine room so of course I told her it seemed like a _fantastic_ idea and she should get on down there. That was maybe an hour, hour and a half ago?” 

“I’m so proud of her,” Adora says softly.

“She’s come a really long way, hasn’t she?” Glimmer says, beaming at Adora. 

“We have _all_ crossed a significant distance on this journey,” Wrong Hordak contributes cheerfully. Glimmer flashes a smile at him; she knows he means it literally, but it feels like maybe it’s true in the other sense of the phrase, too. 

“Yeah,” she grins, “we have.” Her eyes slide over to Adora and fix her with a look she hopes she understands. If Adora is proud of Catra, Glimmer is proud of _Adora._ She’s more open, more honest, more at ease than Glimmer thinks she’s ever seen her. Sure, she’s still _Adora,_ still struggling with her usual demons, but for once it feels like maybe she’s winning. From the way Adora blushes, it seems like the message gets across. “We doing our planning meeting tonight after dinner?”

“Yep,” Adora nods, leaning back against the doorframe and crossing her arms. “I’m gonna go over the notes the Star Siblings gave us one last time before dinner. I know we’re still three days out, but I want to start thinking about our approach now so that we have time to poke holes in it and come up with possible ways it could go wrong.”

“Sounds good,” Glimmer says, feeling herself mentally shift into planning mode. She felt so damn useless back on Denebria, standing at the bottom of that cursed-as-fuck elevator shaft unable to do anything but wait, horrified, for the elevator to come crashing down, crushing one of her best friends to death beneath it, wishing she could just fucking teleport. “Three days isn’t a lot of time but it gives me a chance to test a new theory of mine.” Adora quirks a brow.

“You come up with a new idea for how to use your dad’s magic dust stuff to power your teleportation?” 

“Kind of? Maybe?” 

“I mean, just be careful, alright? I don’t know much about how that kind of magic works but it didn’t seem like he expected you to be… experimenting, you know? Aren’t textbooks supposed to be followed strictly to the letter? Like an instruction manual?” Glimmer snorts.

“Of course _you_ would think that.” She kicks her legs idly under the table, drumming her fingers on top of it. Adora _is_ right, though. Her dad wanted her to practice and get better and learn more, and part of that process, according to the long, boring, snobby introductory sections of these textbooks, is keeping it simple and resisting the urge to innovate. Learn the rules before you try to bend them, or whatever. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” Adora looks nervous now. There’s a surge of stubborn pride that clenches angrily in Glimmer’s chest - who is _Adora_ to judge whether Glimmer knows what she’s doing, she’s not the one who can’t use her magic when she’s away from Etheria - but she fights it back down. “I just - I can’t be useless on another one of these missions. I have to try harder to think of a way I can actually be there for everyone if my teleportation isn’t possible. Otherwise why am I even here?” Dammit, and she’s starting to cry. _Quick, Bow, chop some onions to provide me with a cover story._

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Adora says, coming up off the doorframe and crossing the room to put a hand on her shoulder. “We couldn’t do this without you.” Glimmer really, genuinely doesn’t believe that’s true, but it’s nice of Adora to say. She forces a smile to her face, blinking away the tears and rubbing her wrist against her cheeks where they fall. 

“Look, Shadow Weaver knew how to teleport using magic that wasn’t some kind of inherent princess thing. That means it _is_ possible to do, I just have to keep studying. Maybe I just haven’t found the right page of the right textbook yet, there’s a _lot_ of material.” She’s pored through them all desperately searching for it, so it seems pretty unlikely that she somehow just happened to miss the one page that would tell her how to cast the exact spell she wants, but maybe it’ll get Adora to stop looking at her like that if she pretends she’s going to follow instructions instead of experiment. Ugh, and now the clenching in her chest is _guilt_ instead of anger. She shouldn’t be lying to her friends. This is how they ended up in that whole mess with Prime to begin with.

“Okay,” Adora says, and smiles back at her a little uncertainly. No, Glimmer can’t come clean with Adora just yet. If she keeps digging, gets just a bit better of a grasp on the fundamental grammar and theory of the various magical runes and how a spell is made, she can come up with an idea thoroughly-researched enough and grounded in existing practice that it won’t freak Adora out when she proposes it. “Just… no dark magic, right?”

“Adora, none of these books even begin to hint at dark magic even existing, let alone tell me how to do it. I couldn’t learn dark magic even if I wanted to, which, don’t worry, I _don’t.”_ She squeezes Adora’s forearm, glad to at least feel confident that _this_ is a statement that is completely, unequivocally true. Ugh, lying by omission feels so gross. She’ll talk to Bow about it tonight, and then he’ll chastise her, and tomorrow during their afternoon training session she can open up to Adora about it. It’ll be fine. It’ll all work out. No more secrets. Eventually. Later. Tomorrow. 

“I think this is just about ready, guys,” Bow announces, and Glimmer is relieved beyond words to have escaped the interrogation. “One of you wanna go let the others know it’s dinner time? And then someone else can maybe set the table?”

“I’ll go get Entrapta and Catra,” Glimmer volunteers, maybe a little too quickly because Adora casts her a less than convinced glance. Okay, so, this conversation isn’t over. Blech. She’s too transparent for her own damn good. 

  
“I’ll set the table,” Adora says, giving Glimmer’s shoulder one last worried squeeze before heading to the cabinets with all the dishes. _We’ll talk about this later,_ Adora’s flicker of a glance says. Glimmer trudges out into the hallways and down towards the engine room with a little sigh. Adora and Catra have come a long way the last two months. She just wishes she felt like she could say the same thing about herself.


	34. Ongoing Journey

**Bow**

“As of about fifteen minutes ago,” Bow says, when the dinner plates are cleared and everybody is settled in for the meeting, “we crossed over into a section of space that has been controlled by Prime for nearly two thousand years. The Galactic Rebellion scout ships that went ahead of us to try to get us some intel were the first ships to ever safely return from this quadrant of the galaxy in over a thousand years.” He gestures to the video screen where Entrapta’s half-distracted face appears. “Entrapta, can you pull up the files they gave us?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, one second.” She’s been back in the engine room working on Hordak’s suit for half an hour already after wolfing down dinner and returning to the project as fast as possible. Once she manages to pull her attention away from the exosuit build long enough, a pair of glowing orbs appear over the meeting table. She only got the holographic projector table insert working long range a week ago, so the fact that she doesn’t even remark on its performance is just one more sign of how intensely focused on the exosuit she is. It’s the most overt sign of her care for Hordak that Bow’s seen so far, and if it makes him a little uncomfortable, he tries not to judge. “The last two planets, Crelus and Kandrox.” 

“Thanks, Entrapta,” Bow says, even though she’s already back to work on the suit. “According to our First Ones data, these two planets have been under Horde control for something like twenty-five centuries. They hardly knew anything about them because they were both so well protected that no First Ones scouts could get near them. That makes them really strong candidates for safe places for Prime to hide his consciousness.” He reaches across the table and taps the bigger of the two. “Our first stop is Crelus. The First Ones theorized from the long-range energy readings that it was some kind of manufacturing base. Towards the end of the last century, we know Prime started leaning towards just wiping out all life on a planet rather than spending the time and effort trying to rule the native inhabitants. At the start of the empire that wouldn’t have been as easy to justify - all his ships and robots and equipment had to have been made somewhere, so he needed to use the planets he conquered, not just wipe them and move on. The Galactic Rebellion scouts were able to get some residual energy readings from Crelus - they didn’t risk getting close enough to be spotted, in case Crelus is still controlled by Prime supporters like Jantix II. It doesn’t look like the planet is super active or super populated, but there  _ is _ some kind of machinery running there still, and they were able to get us coordinates to where.” He pokes the floating orb and a glowing dot appears on the surface. 

“We’ll go in cloaked,” Adora says, taking over from Bow now that they’re at the tactical discussion. “We need to assume that the Etherian clones will follow us, so we’ll leave a guard on the ship. Hordak and Entrapta would have been staying behind anyways, and we need Bow with us in case there’s some sort of technology thing we have to hack into. Melog will stay behind to keep the ship cloaked, since we’d be in serious trouble if something happened to Darla and we got stranded out there. Glimmer will stand guard, since she’s been training with her combat magic and should be perfectly capable of handling a ship full of clones, now that we know to expect them. That means the away team is me, Catra, Bow, and Wrong Hordak.” Around the table, each person mentioned nods firmly. Wrong Hordak looks especially focused and determined. “We’ll use Bow’s tracker pad to trace the energy signal to its source, and while we’re doing that Entrapta can use Darla’s long range scanners to check for hidden bunkers like the one on Denebria. We stay on global comms and keep in touch the whole time - if lines are cut for any reason, we converge on the ship and assume we’re under attack.”

“Right. We’re three days from Crelus still, so we’ll have a more detailed mission briefing the day before.” Bow double-taps the currently enlarged planet and it shrinks back down; he reaches over to the second one and touches it once, and it expands out. “If we don’t find the server on Crelus, our last lead is the planet Kandrox.” He gestures towards a series of little dots orbiting the hologram of Kandrox. “The First Ones have absolutely no data on this, except that it exists, and has been part of Horde territory for a long time, like, since before they even realized Prime was building an empire and probably needed to be watched. Our Galactic Rebellion allies got just close enough to pick up a faint energy signal and to discover that the planet is surrounded by a network of hostile, still-active defense satellites. One of their ships took damage when they got too close, so even being really small and fast wasn’t enough to get past the defense grid.”

“My money’s still on that one being the server,” Catra says, leaning forward in her seat. “If I were him, I’d make damn sure nobody could get near my big computer full of backups.”

“I think we all agree with you,” Bow says, spinning the model of Kandrox thoughtfully, “but since we basically have to pass by Crelus on the way to Kandrox anyways, it makes sense to be thorough and check there too. Once we get to Kandrox, we’ll have Melog cloak the ship and then we’ll carefully approach the planet to see if the satellites pick us up. Since we were able to get past Prime’s blockade at Etheria, it’s probably safe to assume his defense grid tech uses the same sensors as his fleet and won’t be able to see us. Remember, magic is Prime’s weak point, so we need to take advantage of that wherever we can.”

“So three days from now, we hit Crelus, go in cloaked, check to see who left the lights on in the one spot of the planet still putting out energy signals, and expect to get attacked by our Etherian clones again. Then once we survive whatever disaster that inevitably becomes, we fly another two days to Kandrox.” Catra summarizes, and Bow watches her steady body language, her confident tone of voice, and absently thinks about what kind of leader she must have been back in the Horde. From what Scorpia told them after defecting, she was tightly-wound, intense, unforgiving, and unlikely to explain more than the broad strokes of the mission to anybody she deemed unworthy of the details. This doesn’t seem like that Catra. 

He’s got no doubt she was shaped by her years of experience as a Force Captain and as the effective leader of the Horde, but without anger and desperation dogging her every step, she’s proved herself quick-witted, sensible, and remarkably adaptable. He allows himself to briefly think beyond the confines of this mission, beyond the immediate threat of Prime’s return, and imagine what the future might hold for Etheria. In a wider galaxy of interplanetary alliances and disputes, having someone like Catra on their leadership team - someone perhaps less instantly inclined towards reckless trust - could be invaluable. The four of them balance each other out in a way that was perhaps missing from the original three person Best Friends Squad. She just… needs to work on her anger a little more, if she’s going to end up getting into politics. 

Catra catches him looking and raises an eyebrow. Without a moment’s hesitation, he smiles brightly at her, letting his approval show on his face as clear as day. She scrunches her face at him and turns her eyes to the floating wireframes of the planets. It can be hard to tell with the fur, but it looks like maybe she’s blushing just the tiniest bit?? Bow clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vocalizing the delighted coo that he feels reflexively bursting from his chest. 

“Yep,” Adora nods, tapping the tabletop twice with an index finger. “Everybody clear on the mission?” They all nod; nobody has questions. They can worry about details once they’re closer to Crelus. “Meeting adjourned, then.” None of them are really in the mood for a game night, so they all part ways to their rooms. The danger of their last two planetside missions and the unknown elements of their next ones weigh heavily on Bow’s mind; he’s sure they’re all feeling the same way. In the hallway, he stops Wrong Hordak on his way to the engine room. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to be part of the ground team, after what happened on Jantix II?” He places a concerned hand on Wrong Hordak’s shoulder; the clone smiles back at him.

“It is important that we have access to any interfaces that require a connection through a port like mine,” he says, touching the back of his neck. Not for the first time, Bow wonders how uncomfortable it must be to have big metal plugs as part of your body, stiff and unyielding studs in living flesh. Would it be possible to remove them someday, or are they so integral that it would do more harm than good to try? Probably a question for someone more medically inclined than him. 

“If you really felt unsafe, we wouldn’t expect you to go,” he says, putting solemn sincerity into his tone. “We would find another way to hack into any tech we needed access to. You’re a person, not a data port.” Wrong Hordak blinks rapidly a few times at this, and reaches up to wipe away the beginnings of a tear from one. 

“Thank you, my brother,” he says, and the way he shapes that familiar epithet is filled with a warmth and a meaning when normally it just sounds automatic and habitual. Bow’s always been fond of Wrong Hordak, but the way he says  _ my brother _ in this moment feels layered with unspoken meaning, with history and friendship. “I do not yet know the words to express my gratitude for the kindness you have shown me since the moment of my disconnection from the hivemind. I hope someday to find those words. In the meantime, I wish to continue to brave dangers with you and the others, to do what I can to keep your home safe after all the horrors that have been wrought by Prime.” Bow tries not to look too surprised; he  _ knows _ Wrong Hordak isn’t a bumbling idiot, that he’s capable of complex thought and is getting more and more sophisticated in his emotional and social literacy every day, but sometimes it catches him off guard. He reacts in the only way he can; with a smile, and a reassurance.

“Etheria isn’t just our home,” Bow says, hand still on Wrong Hordak’s shoulder. “It’s your home too, if you want it to be.” And then Wrong Hordak  _ does _ start to cry in earnest, though his smile is indomitable through the tears. 

**Catra**

Catra watches Adora get ready for sleep from where she’s already sprawled in the bed. Her eyes catch fondly on the calloused bulge of Adora’s knuckles as she takes out the hair tie that holds her ponytail up; she admires as she always does the cascade of loose hair freed from its confines, admires the way Adora’s shoulders come down and unclench as part of this ritual. 

Adora used to sleep with her hair up. Catra remembers when that started happening, remembers clearly when Shadow Weaver scolded the pair of them for looking like - ugh, what was the phrase she used?  _ Feral, unkempt mongrels,  _ Catra thinks - but of course they’d had crazy hair, they were ten years old and had literally just rolled out of bed at the time. Catra had sneered and quietly vowed to never brush her hair again out of spite, and Adora had started wearing her hair tie to bed. 

Catra doesn’t know when Adora stopped doing it, but she’s glad. One more of Shadow Weaver’s quiet, sinister spells broken. She runs her claws through her own short hair, and wonders if this counts as her own freedom from Shadow Weaver, or if it’s just a different kind of curse, another complex knot she’ll have to spend years working out. She looks back up at Adora and realizes the gesture didn’t go unobserved. 

“You think you’ll cut it again when it starts to get longer?” Adora asks, watching Catra from across the room as she pulls her undershirt up and over her head and then tucks it away into their laundry bin. “Entrapta did a decent job last time, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping you maintain it.” Catra notes the way Adora carefully avoids the question she’s actually asking. If Catra keeps growing it out, if she has ambitions of getting it as long as it used to be, she’ll have to live with it for a while at the length that Prime cut it to. Long enough that it flops into her eyes and irritates her ears constantly, long enough that the  _ sensible _ thing would be to slick it back, except that just the thought of looking like  _ that _ again makes her want to start ripping her hair out of her head piece by piece. She’d managed to take control and ownership back by cutting it even shorter than Prime did, but there’ll be no way to bypass his preferred length on the way back to how long it used to be. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, running her fingers through it again thoughtfully. “I guess it is starting to get longer now, huh.” Panic pushes against the inside of her chest. Is it already back to that length? No, no, not yet. She has time to figure out a plan. 

“Bet you’d look cute with a little ponytail,” Adora says, climbing into bed and pressing a soothing kiss to Catra’s temple. A little smile flicks across Catra’s face at the touch. 

“You’re biased,” she mutters, shuffling over and pulling Adora down into the pillows so that she can set her head on Adora’s chest and listen to her breathing. “You haven’t changed your hairstyle in like fifteen years.” Adora doesn’t immediately touch her, which seems to suggest she’s being wary about touching Catra’s hair in case the subject is a little too raw, so Catra takes one of those strong hands of hers and puts it decisively behind her own ear. Adora’s fingers tangle instantly in her hair, scratching  _ just right,  _ and on her next exhale Catra feels the majority of her tension leech out of her body. 

“Do you think I should?” Adora asks idly. 

“Hm?” 

“Change my hair. Like you said, it’s been the same for the last fifteen years.” 

“I can’t even imagine you with different hair,” Catra mumbles, instantly fighting with both  _ Adora can’t change, she’s mine, she’s not allowed to change,  _ and  _ yes, yes, cast away everything to do with the Horde, everything that was ever tainted by Shadow Weaver, _ neither of which seem like especially helpful extremes. “What would you change it to?” 

“I dunno,” Adora hedges, and her heart rate picking up betrays that this is something she’s been thinking about, something that makes her nervous. “Maybe it’s stupid to try to change something just for the sake of changing it.” Catra allows quiet to hang them between a moment, thinking. Then, finally, it occurs to her. 

“Glimmer changed her hair after her mom died,” Catra says quietly, hoping her guess is right. She doesn’t soften the phrasing or hesitate to spell it out. She can’t hide forever from the brutal truth of what happened to Queen Angella, from the consequences of her actions. 

“Yeah,” Adora sighs, and Catra relaxes a little more. It’s not so hard to do, with Adora’s fingertips massaging her scalp. “She said… she felt like she was different on the inside, and she needed to be different on the outside too, somehow.” The words resonate with Catra so strongly that her breath catches. She’d felt the exact same way, after Shadow Weaver’s betrayal, after the portal, after - after the way Adora had  _ looked _ at her. Different on the inside, and wanting to look different on the outside, too. 

“Is that the way you feel?” Catra asks, trailing a soft, quietly possessive touch across one of Adora’s shoulders, following the line of a deltoid down to her bicep. 

“Yeah, I think so. I think… maybe I’ve felt that way for a long time, but I’ve been scared of it. Like I’ve tried so hard not to change on the outside, because I haven’t wanted to admit I’ve changed on the inside.” Catra’s been purring since Adora started rubbing her head, but now she deliberately makes the sound louder. It’s both an expression of her approval for Adora and an attempt to take the edge off of her evident anxiety around this subject. It usually helps when they’re chest to chest like this. She feels Adora shift her head on the pillows and looks up to find her studying Catra with a little smile. Ah, she’s been caught in the act. Mm, well. Not the worst thing to be caught doing. She smiles back, a little sheepishly, but keeps purring. 

“I don’t think any uniform could ever hide how much you’ve changed,” Catra whispers, turning her face to press a kiss to Adora’s sternum, a soft loving touch to where a failsafe once burned relentlessly, “and I mean that in a good way.”

“It sort of freaks me out,” Adora whispers against the top of Catra’s head, still running fingers through her hair, “the idea that things can just happen to me, and change who I am, and I don’t have any control over it.” Catra moves the wandering touch of her hand from Adora’s arm to her torso, stroking a thumb across a collar bone. She thinks about that, thinks about the dilemma of choice and the way a person becomes what their environment throws at them, thinks about how differently each Horde Cadet reacted to the pressures of their upbringing and then the horrors of war.

“You and me both,” she says quietly. She doesn’t  _ have _ some kind of wise, reassuring answer for Adora. She’s spent her entire life hurting herself and hurting other people in an attempt to reclaim even the illusion of control over her life, over her personhood. She knows there’s a lot Adora hasn’t told her in detail, about all this stuff with the First Ones and She-Ra and the bullshit they fed her about destiny and duty and obligation. On the same note, there’s a lot that she still hasn’t shared with Adora, still hasn’t decided on how or when or how much she wants to share, about Hordak and Shadow Weaver and Prime. There are so many small, stupid ways she’s tried to take back control of some small part of her life that if she started listing them now they’d be awake talking until the morning lights started to come back on. 

“Sorry,” Adora says, “I didn’t mean to make this so serious,” and only then does Catra realize she’s stopped purring. 

“No, no, it’s okay. You’re allowed to talk about stuff that’s bothering you.” Catra lifts herself up on one arm so that she can bring her eye level up to Adora’s and press their foreheads together. Adora’s hand in her hair slips down to cradle her cheek and hold her there, and they stay like that for a while, breath mingling and eyes closed. “Tell me more about what you were thinking, with the hair?” She prompts, after the now-familiar gesture has banished the old ghosts from the edges of her mind and she can settle comfortably back into the pillows. Adora flips over and presses her face into Catra’s chest, switching their positions neatly. 

“I know it’s… kind of a tricky subject, but… I really do like how the shorter hair looks on you,” Adora starts. Catra could say a hundred different things about this  _ tricky subject,  _ but she doesn’t interrupt. Instead, she brushes Adora’s long, loose hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear, and then gently starts to run her fingers through it. Adora softens slightly against her, smiles briefly. “I keep wondering what I’d look like with short hair. If I could pull it off.” Here, Catra does interject. 

“Of course you’d ‘pull if off’,” she snorts. “You managed to look hot in that horrible jacket, you’ll look good in anything.” Still, it’s a strange thought, idly playing with Adora’s long golden hair and trying to imagine her without it. “And if you hated it, you could just grow it back, right?” 

“I guess that’s true,” Adora murmurs, turning to hide her face, embarrassed, against Catra’s chest. “It just feels weirdly like a really big decision.” A decision that was taken out of Catra’s hands, hisses something angry and violated inside of her, evoking a sharp pang of curdled discomfort. She tries to ignore it, but realizes this conversation is as much about her as it is about Adora.

“So don’t decide,” Catra says, looking down and momentarily marvelling at the sight of Adora draped across her. It still manages to surprise her sometimes that this is all real. “That’s what I’m doing. I’ll figure it out when I figure it out. There’s no rush.”

“Yeah,” Adora says softly, nuzzling the side of her cheek into the fur of Catra’s sternum. It’s the cutest damn thing Catra’s ever seen. “Nothing bad will happen if I don’t make a decision right away.” 

“Exactly,” Catra says, running her thumb affectionately across one of Adora’s eyebrows. Adora grins and wrinkles her nose at this, and Catra’s heart answers with the surety of a call-and-response marching cadence. They fall into a comfortable quiet for a while, but Catra knows Adora isn’t sleeping. The silence rolls out around them like a shifting meadow, open and organic and gentle. Catra’s hand continues its soft stroking, relishing as she always does the privacy of their room and the opportunity it affords her to be unabashedly intimate and touchy with Adora. It’s nice, even if she can tell Adora is thinking instead of totally relaxing. This is Adora, after all - she’s always been prone to overthinking. 

“What’s it like?” Adora finally asks, into the darkness. “Having it so short?” Catra’s almost surprised, that what finally comes from her mouth after all that pondering is so mundane. Adora must have been worrying that the question would bother her. 

“You wouldn’t believe how cold my neck always is,” Catra says immediately, rushing to parry her heavier feelings with a quick lash of humor. Adora smiles, but her eyes ask for more. Who is Catra to deny her? “It’s, uh. I felt… really exposed, at first. It’s… lighter, and easier to take care of, but for the first little while I kept feeling like I’d forgotten something, like one of those dreams where you show up to a skills exam and you look down and you’re totally naked?” She was hoping Adora would laugh at that, but she’s looking up at Catra really seriously now. Ugh. Okay. Just keep talking and don’t linger too long, then. “I’m mostly used to it by now, I guess. It’s nice that it’s never in my eyes. And I feel… I dunno, like I said, a lot  _ lighter.  _ Probably also because I’m not wearing my mask anymore.” She touches her forehead where for years she’d have expected to find solid metal. “I guess that’s part of the ‘feeling exposed’ thing too, so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad for you.” Adora makes a thoughtful noise, but doesn’t add anything further. She’s clearly trying to imagine all of these things for herself. “I don’t hate it, I guess, but it still surprises me sometimes when I see my reflection.” It doesn’t feel like  _ her,  _ or at least, not like a version of her that she chose. The thought of growing her hair back out to its old familiar length is a daunting one - she has  _ no  _ idea how long that would take - but there is something appealing about all of the in between steps as a way to experiment. She glances back down again at Adora, tries and fails to imagine her with hair as short as her own is. “I dunno. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” Adora says, turning her head to kiss Catra’s chin, “Thank you.” Catra takes her jaw and gently pulls her up so that they can kiss properly, and Adora obliges. She feels a little twisted up inside, making herself think about this, but at least with Adora it feels  _ safe _ to try to address these tangled emotions. 

“You’ll look good no matter what you do with your hair,” Catra says quietly, when they pull apart. “You don’t have to decide right away.” Adora blushes. She’s so utterly endearing when her walls come down like this, Catra can’t help but kiss her forehead and stroke her face like she’s something precious, something rare, because obviously she  _ is _ those things. 

“Yeah,” Adora breathes, grinning with a soft-edged sort of relief. “There’s no rush.” 

“There’s no rush,” Catra confirms, and kisses her again. 


	35. Crelus

**Hordak**

Finally, finally, Entrapta finishes connecting the last of the cables to his lower serratus port and is able to enclose the exosuit around his body. He finds he almost longs for the rough, impersonal efficiency of the robotic applicator he used back in the Fright Zone; this laborious manual connection is wildly intimate and deeply embarrassing, for some reason. He is glad Bow banished all the curious onlookers from the infirmary, even if he doesn’t understand the Etherian archer’s reasons for doing so. Is that something he ought to thank him for? Ugh, he hopes not.

“Comfortable?” Entrapta asks, pressing the customized electronics-imbued fabric mesh to his body and fastening a variety of closures. No, none of this is comfortable - Hordak has rarely in his life experienced anything akin to comfort.

“As long as it allows me to function, I do not care,” he says, and doesn’t look Entrapta in the eye as he says it. Her fussing is already bad enough. If she starts prioritizing comfort she’ll never finish working on this suit. 

“Oh, I’m quite confident it will do that.” She pats his chest affectionately; he can only assume the exosuit is her intended recipient of that fondness. From this close, he can see the discoloration below her eyes. He is reasonably certain that is a symptom of sleep deprivation in her species. “Ready for me to turn it on?”

“I am ready,” he says, the confirmation aching with emotion. He is afraid. He is excited. He is nervous. He is sheepish. He is grateful. 

Oh. How peculiar. Not one of those emotions is anger. Hm. No. No, he isn’t angry. The lack of it almost makes him feel… off balance. 

“Activating Featherlite Mesh-Based Exosuit Mark One,” Entrapta says, with a weary smile that confirms his sleep deprivation hypothesis, and presses a switch on his chestplate. He gasps as the connections to his various ports come awake, thrumming with power. The loose fabric tightens to his body, rippling and flexing in response to his firing neural signals, alternating between soft and rigid as needed to support the movement his body makes. His legs feel strong beneath him. His back feels solid and capable. His arms feel light, precise, and perfectly stable. “Go on, try it out! Walk around a little.” There isn’t much room for movement in the tiny med bay, but Hordak travels the four paces that take him from one end of it to the other, moves his arms around in ways that tend to exhaust him without the suit.

“I… I feel incredible. Entrapta, this is…” tears spring to his eyes and he brings a hand to his face to conceal them. He splutters a few more words, but cannot articulate what he feels. This is so _different_ from his old mechanical suit of armor. Wearing this new suit, he doesn’t feel like a warrior, he doesn’t feel like a soldier, he doesn’t feel like a machine. 

He feels like… like a _person._ This masterpiece of technology isn’t to make him more deadly, to make him stronger so that he can conquer worlds or follow orders. She made this magnificent thing to make his life easier. To help reduce and manage chronic pain, to enable him to live whatever path appeals to him without quite as many obstacles. 

He can play board games without spending the entire evening focused on hiding the way his arm shakes when he reaches for the pieces.

“Do you… do you like it?” Entrapta’s uncertain voice rattles him from his thoughts, and he forces himself to take his hand away from his face, even though he is still weeping. She is watching him with an openly hopeful expression, and the sincerity of it makes his insides tighten with ferocity. 

“This is the greatest gift you could ever have given me,” he says, and somehow, somehow, manages to keep his voice steady as he says it. Her exhausted, tentative smile explodes out into relieved joy, and when she leaps forward and wraps him in an embrace he returns the gesture without hesitation. Somewhere in his mind, a memory of Prime scoffs in disgust and disdain at the physical expression of gratitude.

_No,_ Hordak snarls at the phantom reprimand, _this is not for you, Prime. You cannot take this from me._ Rebelliously, he squeezes Entrapta a little tighter, and then releases her and looks down to regard that sacred smile upon her face. _And now I have what I need to ensure you can never take it from me again._

“We should get to the bridge,” he says, wiping the last of his tears from his cheeks and then standing tall, proud, filled with new confidence. “Crelus is only an hour away.” Entrapta nods and they make their way out of the infirmary; down the hall, he watches as the end of a tail vanishes around the corner and into the bridge. Interesting. Catra was eavesdropping. The thought makes his stomach toss with displeasure, makes the anger start to whisper in his veins, but there isn’t time to feel wronged by the intrusion. They have a mission to do.

“Tell me if you start to feel uncomfortable or if you notice anything suboptimal about the fit or the settings,” Entrapta says as they approach the bridge, and he nods absently. They join the rest of the crew right as the creature from Krytis bursts outwards into motes of golden magic and covers them in a blanket of illusion. 

“We’re on approach to Crelus,” Bow’s voice announces into the eerie emptiness of space. “You’ve got the controls, Darla, but keep a watch for incoming ships and alert us of any signals.”

“Auto-pilot activated,” Darla says, “Incoming ship proximity alarm is now armed.” Like a ghost, they glide invisibly towards the third planet on their itinerary. The approach and the landing are long and still and tense, but ultimately uneventful. The ground team suits up and disembarks, and still no sign of the clones and their repurposed troop carrier. Entrapta gets to work scouring the planet for hidden depths with Darla’s more powerful short-range scanners, and this leaves Hordak alone on the bridge with only Glimmer for company. The young queen is tense and visibly agitated. 

“Okay,” she says into the communicator, leaning forward and holding a hand to her ear, “Everybody turn on your visual relays. You remember where the new button is?” Entrapta has been busy making modifications to the space suits as well as his own new exosuit, apparently - has she slept at _all_ since Jantix II? 

“Got it,” Adora’s voice says in his ear, and then a screen appears above the console showing a live feed of footage from Adora’s helmet. One by one the members of the ground team switch on their cameras and the bridge is lit up with four different rectangles showing four different perspectives of the same building. It’s a little nauseating, truth be told, if one tries to watch all four screens at once. His mind leaps back to Prime, and he feels a brief, involuntary twist of respect and awe. If having access to four points of view at once is dizzying, what kind of incredible mental capacity must Prime have had to comfortably manage thousands? Did he train himself to do it over several millennia, starting with one or two clones and scaling up exponentially over time?

“We’re receiving the visual signal,” Glimmer says, seeming more grounded with the live feed to look at. “It looks like another old communications spire?”

“The architecture is a little different,” Bow says, and the feed from his suit shows up looking up and down at the building. “I don’t think it’s a communications tower. It’s a little more heavy-duty, and I think it’s got a bigger footprint. Like a vertical factory? No sign of any security so far.” 

“Darla’s not picking up any life signs,” Entrapta says, from the engine room. “But there is a _definite_ energy signal coming from that building. I’m still running some scans, but from what I can tell it looks to be powered by a geothermal reactor. That would explain how it’s still running without anybody here to manage it, if the energy is coming from the heat of the planet’s core.”

“We’re going in,” Adora says, and Hordak watches uselessly from his seat on the bridge as the cameras show them advancing on the dusty control panel of the front door. The False Hordak presses his palm to a security scanner but it flashes red and denies him entry. Odd. 

“The door should recognize his DNA as identical to Prime’s,” Hordak muses out loud. “I don’t understand why it denied him access.” 

“Maybe it’s busted,” Bow says with a shrug, pulling out tools to manually hack his way in. Hordak watches him do this through three screens at three different angles, and still finds it disorienting. “It _is_ like, thousands of years old, after all.” Luckily it doesn’t take much work to get the door open, and the four stumble inside. They switch on their helmet lights rather than waste time fussing with the control panel for the overhead lights, and advance past a series of dense computer banks. 

“This isn’t _it,_ is it?” Catra asks quietly, the feed from her helmet swinging around wildly to take in all the screens and softly whirring machinery. “The backup server?” Hordak turns his eyes to the feed from his fellow clone and watches as he approaches a console and tries again to use his palm to access it. Again, the flash of red light. Access denied - but why? Perhaps common clones were never meant to have security clearance in this place? It’s certainly not a planet or a facility he has any memories of. 

“This doesn’t look like a server room,” Bow says dubiously. “And I’d be surprised if he was keeping the server right inside the front doors. I’d say we should either go up or down. Entrapta, does this building have any basement levels?”

“It does,” she confirms. “There are four floors below you, and ten floors above you.” 

“Please tell me this stupid building doesn’t have an elevator,” Catra mutters. 

“Only stairs,” Entrapta says, “which, really, seems a bit inefficient to me!” 

“Prime always did like the dramatic presence of a needlessly large staircase,” Hordak mutters, without putting himself through on the comms. Beside him, Glimmer snorts a laugh and sends him a little side glance. 

“Any guesses as to where the server would be?” Adora asks, her feed sweeping warily around the first floor, keeping watch for threats. “What’s more likely? Up, or down?”

“We could split up,” Bow suggests. “Catra and I could start heading up, and you and Wrong Hordak could go down.” 

“Wait, why do I have to go with _you?”_ Catra asks. “I want to be with Adora if we have to split the group.”

“No, no, he’s right,” Adora says. “If the clones show up, I want to be with Wrong Hordak to protect him in case they try to get at his memories again. You and Bow together can handle yourselves without me.” But the False Hordak cannot, is the unspoken implication. Her assessment isn’t wrong, but somehow Hordak feels embarrassed for his fellow clone. 

“But what if you guys find something you need Bow to hack into?” Catra presses. “I don’t think we should split up.”

“We’ll be quick,” Adora says. “Just a look around the basement floors and then we’ll come up to rejoin you if we don’t find anything that looks like a server room. Remember, the clones ran from me last time instead of engaging in a fight. They can’t actually do anything to us head on, and this time they don’t have a conveniently large thing they can drop on my head from several thousand feet up. Plus they won’t just blow up the whole building in case the server is in here.” 

“Fine,” Catra says, clearly unhappy about it. “But be _careful.”_ The video from her helmet shows her marching angrily towards the big curving stairs leading up to the second floor. Bow’s camera shows her charging off, and rocks wildly as he scrambles to catch up with her. Hordak turns his eyes back to Adora’s feed, watches her follow the long beam of her flashlight down into the dusty stairwell leading to the basement. From Wrong Hordak’s feed, he can see the tense set of Adora’s shoulders, the military clip of her footsteps. They go down, down. Trying to multitask, Hordak looks back at the other two and the sprawl of laboratory equipment and examination tables that their helmet lights have uncovered on the second floor. In the basement, somebody’s light flashes against a glass vat filled with murky fluid. 

“What _is_ this place?” Bow mutters, and a moment later Wrong Hordak yelps in fear. Hordak yanks his attention back to his feed. This is _exhausting_ trying to keep up with. He really, genuinely doesn’t know how Prime managed it. 

“What? What is it?” Adora snarls, and suddenly a new light source appears in her and Wrong Hordak’s feeds, briefly blinding the camera while it adjusts. When the video becomes clear again, she’s holding a glowing golden sword and the room around them is lit, revealing rows of glass tanks, each containing a floating body. It’s like a sick, nightmarish version of the growth and storage chambers on board the Velvet Glove. The vibrant green of the life-giving fluid has gone brown with age and lack of maintenance, and the clones within are half-rotted, appearing orange-umber in color and with some sort of horrible plant growth along their arms.

“What’s wrong?” Catra demands, and her camera swirls dizzyingly as she turns around suddenly, ready to run for the basement. 

“It’s tanks of clones,” Adora says, voice rigid like she’s trying very hard to keep calm. “But they’re… really, really old. It’s like they’ve… uh… gone bad. Like… like old fruit.” The comms pick up a noise from Catra’s helmet, something like a groan. Hordak looks over to Bow’s feed, and through his perspective watches Catra clutch her stomach and shudder. 

“Okay, I don’t regret not seeing that. The upstairs is _way_ less gross. It’s just like… lab equipment or something? It looks almost medical?”

“Can you get a closer look at one of those tanks?” Hordak says suddenly, raising a hand to his ear. There’s something odd about the bodies of these clones, something beyond decomposition. 

“Ugh, do I have to?” Adora replies, but Wrong Hordak gamely approaches one of the tanks and peers in through the foggy liquid. He utters a shocked gasp at the same time that Hordak realizes what he’s looking at.

“These bodies are… a different species,” Hordak says. “They aren’t clones of Prime. They’re clones of something else.” Wrong Hordak moves quickly to the next tank, and then the next one. They’re all the same strange species - three pairs of eyes, a long muzzle, and drifting plumes of hair - what Hordak had initially mistaken for plant growth - from shoulder to elbow. “I’ve never seen any creature like this before. None of the planets Prime conquered contained anything like this.”

“Uh, Hordak?” Catra’s voice cuts in, “You seeing this? This is one of you, right?” He jerks his attention to Catra’s feed, and is faced with a long steel shelf with neatly arranged skulls. Her camera is pointed at a skull that has “ZTR-118B” marked on the frontal bone. The shape of it is familiar. 

“I. I believe so. Perhaps.” He has not, admittedly, spent a lot of time studying the shape of his own skull. “I do not understand why he made clones of other species. He was already the - the perfect lifeform. What purpose did these old experiments serve?” 

“I found the stairs down to the next level of the basement,” Adora says, interrupting. “We need to focus on the mission. Come on, Wrong Hordak.” 

“Hey, Hordak, can you read this?” Bow says, and yet again his attention is summoned to a new screen. Bow has hacked his way into a computer control panel from the second floor and pulled up a screen. 

“It’s an experiment log,” Hordak says, leaning forward in his seat to squint at the second-hand text through Bow’s feed. “They are dated as far back as three thousand years ago.” Bow scrolls through them rapidly - there are a _lot_ of experiments. “Wait, stop! That one! The third from the top. Open that.” The file name has ZTR-118B in it. No. It cannot possibly mean what he thinks it means. Bow taps the file and it fills the screen with text. Hordak skims a few lines and then swears. “No. No, that cannot be true.”

“What does it say??” Catra growls impatiently. “Is it about the server? We need to keep moving.”

“Species ZTR-118B has proven a promising new candidate for use as a vessel. Its natural lifespan of three to four centuries and clean - “ he chokes on this phrase, “ - clean aesthetic structure make it appealing as a new primary vessel species. Experiments on ease of maintenance and modification for hivemind suitability are scheduled to begin immediately. The species’ natural parthenogenetic reproductive cycle makes them especially resilient to repeated cloning with minimal defects as a consequence of cascading.” 

“Okay, uh, so, what does any of that mean?” Adora asks. He looks to her feed just as she comes down into the next floor of the basement, revealing an enormous reservoir of preserving fluid and several rows of smaller vats containing yet another unfamiliar species. 

“It means,” Wrong Hordak says, frozen in place still on the first basement level, staring at one of the arm-frilled orange creatures in its vat, “we were not made of Prime. We - we are not clones of him. There were other species before us, other clones. Other vessels. That is why my palm does not open any of these doors. Our species was not in use when this facility was running. Prime was not one of us. We - we - “ Wrong Hordak’s camera sinks to the ground, like he’s fallen to his knees. Hordak is shaking, shaking with betrayal, with rage, with confusion. So much of his identity, so much of his history, so much of his pride and his shame, and -

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Entrapta says over the comms, “but another ship just entered the planet’s atmosphere.” 

“Fuck,” Glimmer says, jumping to her feet and grabbing for her staff. “Where are they, Entrapta?”

“Coming right for us,” Entrapta says.

“But the ship is _cloaked!”_ Bow protests. 

“They obviously have a tracker on us somehow,” Adora growls. “Everybody back to the - wait, shit - does anybody else hear a beeping?” Hordak turns his attention over to Adora’s feed, watches as her head pivots back and forth trying to find the source of the noise. The screen suddenly freezes in place, centering on a flashing red dot nestled against the underside of the huge reservoir of ancient preservative fluid. “Fuck,” is all she has time to say before the bomb goes off and the basement floods with a torrent of filthy liquid. 

“Adora!” Catra yells, her feed a blur as she abandons Bow on the upper levels and bolts for the stairs back down. 

“It’s an ambush!” Hordak yells, “Get out of there!” But it’s too late. A brilliant green glow fills Wrong Hordak’s camera. Three clones step out of the transporter light, wearing smug expressions, and seize Wrong Hordak. 

“Hello, my brother,” One of them chuckles.

“Oak Leaf?” Wrong Hordak gasps, and that is the last thing Hordak hears him say before the clones rip the helmet from his head and a bright green beam lights them up once more. Hordak watches from Wrong Hordak’s discarded helmet as Catra comes racing down the stairs and launches herself bodily at the group of kidnappers, claws bared and expression wild with fury - she flies harmlessly through the spot where they once were, just a moment too late, and crashes with a thud into one of the specimen tanks. Adora emerges from the lower basement, glowing with magic and unbridled rage.

“They have Wrong Hordak!” Glimmer reports frantically. 

“Everybody to the ship!” Adora bellows. Bow comes scrambling down the stairs after them. “Entrapta, get a lock on them. Get ready to chase them the second we’re all on board. We’re not letting them get away.” 

Hordak is shaking, shaking, shaking. 

It’s too late. 

They have Wrong Hordak. They’re going to learn about Kandrox. They’re going to find the server, they’re going to bring back Prime, and all of this will have been for nothing. 

It’s too late, and everything was a lie, anyways. Prime was always playing a bigger game than anybody realized. He was unburdened by any sense of self that was limited to a single _species,_ not simply a single _body._ His Empire is eternal. His Rule is inescapable. 

“Hordak,” Glimmer says suddenly beside him, snapping her fingers to get his attention without touching him. “Get to the med bay. You’re shaking.” 

“It’s too late,” he blurts, unable to stop the terror from overflowing his defenses. “Prime won.”

“It’s _not_ too late,” Glimmer says ferociously. “We don’t just give up when things get scary or look hopeless. That’s not how we do things. You hear me?”

“We’re on board,” Adora snaps through the comms, “close the hatch and get Darla in the air, _now.”_

“You heard her, Darla,” Entrapta says, her voice in Hordak’s ear reassuringly steady. “Let’s go get our friend back!”


	36. Scars Old and New

**Catra**

“Adora,” Catra says urgently, tugging her helmet off and tossing it haphazardly into her chair, “I need a captain’s override on Wrong Hordak’s bedroom door. I know where the bug is.” 

“Got it,” Adora says, hands flying wildly over the console. “Door’s open. Everybody hold on - Darla, get us into the sky. Don’t lose that ship!” Catra staggers down the hallway, bracing herself against the walls to keep her balance as the ship blasts out of Crelus’s atmosphere. Adora’s voice rings down the corridor after her, decisive and authoritative, and she knows she can leave it to Adora to handle the chase while she takes care of their little bug problem. She throws herself into the small one-person bedroom, taking a deep breath before she crosses through the glowing energy field across the threshold. 

Her eyes scan rapidly over the cluttered room. The walls are plastered in printouts of articles and lists of name ideas, in rough sketches of everything from clothing designs to building blueprints. The ship bucks below her and knocks the wind out of her, and she gasps for air but there is none. She could stick her head back out into the hallway to get a fresh lungful but surely what she’s looking for won’t take more than another second or two to find. There’s Wrong Hordak’s little cubby at the foot of the bed; she wobbles over to it and rips through his belongings, tossing aside clothing only to find… more clothing. The edges of her vision are starting to get fuzzy, her body’s instinct to try to gulp down air fighting with her knowledge that the air in this room is of no use to her. Her gaze darts, now frantic, for other areas of cluttered personal items. The little desk in the corner where he’s got his potted fern, looking lush and happy, and beside it - aha! 

She struggles to make her muscles obey her commands, fighting for every step. The dizzy feeling in her head and clenching sensation in her chest are just distractions, just obstacles she has to overcome. Panic swells beneath her ribs. She shouldn’t have left her helmet on the bridge. What is she doing here? Focus, focus. Her hand closes around the metal sculpture sitting on Wrong Hordak’s desk. The bug, this _has_ to be the bug, she’s certain of it. Now she just has to cross the ten feet of space between the desk and the door and she’ll be able to breathe again. 

Shit. She’s not going to make it. Stupid, stupid. 

_Tell me, Force Captain,_ jeers a voice in her head, _how is your breathing?_

Everything starts to go blurry. She just needs to get to the door. If she can just lift her feet - but they weigh a thousand pounds, and her lungs are burning, burning. Stupid. _Stupid._

A fuzzy silhouette appears in the distant doorway. The person says something, but Catra’s ears don’t seem to be working. The ship jolts again, and the floor seems to roll and jostle and now Catra’s face and shoulder are pressed against it. Dimly she watches the person rush towards her; she realizes too late that it’s Hordak, shrieks and screams and tries to twist away from him even as the sounds escape her as gasping and coughing. 

“ - _foolish -_ “ is the only word she hears him utter, before he’s seizing her bodily and hauling her out into the hallway. Tears stream down her face as she fights to stay conscious, scraping her throat raw with deep ragged inhalations. He is talking to her again, trying to take what she’s holding, and she curls herself around it protectively, hissing and coughing and baring her teeth. She forgets what she’s holding but she knows it’s important, forgets why Hordak is here but knows that he will hurt her, that he _did_ this to her - 

Hordak backs away, looking surprised and confused. He glances over his shoulder towards - towards the bridge. They’re on the ship, they’re on Darla. She was… she was doing something…

The jagged edges of the metal sculpture press hard against her stomach as the ship hits more turbulence, and just like that she’s yanked back to reality. Trembling, she uncurls and pushes herself up off the floor; Hordak watches her warily from a safe distance away. Only now does Catra notice he’s holding his face; there’s greenish blood on his chin. She must have scratched him in her panic. Guilt and hatred war within her briefly - he didn’t deserve it, just now, but he certainly deserved it _back then._ Maybe she can consider this delayed retribution. The thought doesn’t make her feel any better. 

“You have the tracking device,” Hordak says, after a few more moments of them staring at each other. His statement is tentative, like it’s a question about whether she’s still batshit crazy and going to lash out at him again. 

“Yeah,” she croaks, suppressing a shudder. “This has to be it.” 

“Then you ought to return to the bridge.” He pulls his hand away from his face and looks at the smear of blood on his palm, exposing the deep lines of the cut along his cheek bone and down to his chin. She just _barely_ missed taking out one of his eyes. “I will join you shortly.” He starts towards the med bay. In any other circumstance, Catra thinks she might follow him and help clean and bandage the wound - he did get it as a result of trying to save her from suffocating, after all - but the urgency of the moment leaves them little wiggle room. 

“Okay,” she says, through gritted teeth, and wipes the last of the tears from her face before straightening her shoulders and heading for the bridge. 

  
  


**Adora**

“Come on, Darla,” Adora growls, leaning forward in her chair, fingers clutching at the arms, “they can’t outrun us. They aren’t as fast as we are. We just have to get close enough that I can jump to their ship as She-Ra.” 

“We’re gaining on them,” Bow says, tapping through and moving around about five different floating screens like a Mystacor mage juggling spells. “We should be in range in seven minutes.” 

_“This_ is how they were tracking us,” Catra’s voice says, cutting through Adora’s concentration. She whips her head around to see Catra triumphantly but angrily brandishing a weird piece of metal. 

“What is that?” Glimmer asks, tearing her eyes away from the front window to scrutinize Catra’s find. 

“When they took Wrong Hordak, he said ‘Oak Leaf’,” Catra explains, stalking into the bridge and handing the object to Bow. “I remembered him getting a goodbye gift from a clone named Oak Leaf back on Etheria. He’s had this sitting on his desk in his bedroom this whole time.” Bow turns it around in his hands, eyebrows furrowing. A sudden surge of fury boils up inside of Adora. The enemy took advantage of Wrong Hordak’s trusting nature, and they were too naive to anticipate it, to be suspicious of the other clones. They weren’t careful enough. They failed to protect him. _She_ failed to protect him.

The magic rushes through her, and she doesn’t try to stop it. Instead she rises from her chair and goes to Bow, gently takes the tracking device from his hands, and allows She-Ra to roar to wakefulness inside of her. As power floods her veins, she closes her fist, crushing the hunk of metal. When her hand comes open again, the technological elements of the ‘artwork’ are readily apparent, wires and computer chips scattered across her palm among the shards of its outer casing. She turns her eyes up from the wreckage of the bug and meets Catra’s gaze; there is something shocked in those eyes, something that teeters between fear and awe, and Adora isn’t entirely sure she’s comfortable with it, but she doesn’t have time to think about it now. She hands the bits and pieces of tech to Bow, and finds he’s wearing the same expression as Catra.

“You can analyze that later, if there’s anything left to analyze,” she says. “But they won’t be tracking us anymore.” 

“Uh, Adora,” Glimmer says, “we’re receiving a transmission.” She turns back around to face the center console, and Glimmer is right - a flashing notification indicates a request to open a comm signal. The clones’ dropship is hailing them. 

“Patch it through,” she growls, throwing herself back into her chair, which is considerably smaller and tighter when she’s in her She-Ra form. The video screen opens up on three identical faces wearing three identical smiles. 

“We have reviewed the memories of our misguided brother,” the one in the middle starts, smug and calm despite the fact that they are - Adora glances at the screen - six minutes from being completely obliterated. “And now that he is no longer of use to us, you can have him back.”

“We won’t let you get to the backup server,” Adora says, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. “Our ship is faster than yours, even if you know where we’re going. Surrender now and we promise you won’t be harmed.”

“Except for whichever of you fuckers is named Oak Leaf,” Glimmer snarls. “No promises when it comes to _his_ safety.” The clones on the video screen all keep wearing that serene smile.

“None of us have that name, for we all have cast aside such individualities. Your threats of harm are meaningless; we do not fear death. Prime’s vision of his empire as a greater whole leaves no room for concern for the individual; it is his greatest strength, his willingness to sacrifice a few pawns for the sake of a great victory, and it is one we are honored to uphold.” 

“Five minutes,” Bow whispers, and Adora gives him a tiny nod. Maybe if she can keep them talking, they won’t realize Darla is rapidly closing the gap between them. 

“What have you done with Wrong Hordak?” She asks pointedly. 

“Your friend is safely enclosed in a life support pod,” the middle clone says, and at that the three move aside so that the video feed displays a long egg-shaped capsule filled with bright green fluid. Wrong Hordak drifts within, unconscious and naked and wired up into the control panel via the port at the back of his neck. “These pods are designed to deliver our kind as backup troops to distant battlefronts. He will remain safe and alive until he reaches the end of his journey.” Behind them, a mechanical arm closes around Wrong Hordak’s pod, and a hatch opens up. 

“What are you doing with him??” Adora demands, jumping to her feet. 

“We have set the coordinates for his delivery to the center of the nearest sun,” one of the clones says, smooth and sinister. “From his memories, we understand that you are all rather fond of him.” On the video screen, the arm launches the pod out through the hatch; through the front windshield, they can see the dropship jettison a tiny green speck into space behind it. “The pods move quite quickly through the emptiness of space. You will not have time to both stop us and save him. You must choose.” The bright light of thrusters flare off of the little life support pod, and then it’s gone, rushing off in the opposite direction from where the clones’ ship is headed. 

“Cut the call,” Adora snaps, and the line goes dead. “Get a trace on Wrong Hordak’s pod, set course to intercept.” Nobody argues with her. The five minutes it would take to keep following the clones and take them out as She-Ra could mean Wrong Hordak’s death. She failed him once, she isn’t going to fail him again. 

“New course calculated.” Bow says, hitting the confirmation window and sending Darla careening around to face the new direction. Adora holds tight to her chair and tries to ignore the nausea. “That pod is fast. It’ll take us an hour to catch up to it just from that brief head start it got.” 

“But we’ll catch it before it gets to the sun?” 

“Yeah, we’ll be able to.” Bow says, frowning, tapping various screens. “Entrapta?”

“Yep?” Entrapta answers over the comms from the engine room, sounding more strained than cheerful. 

“Remember that experimental booster I told you to save for a special occasion?”

“Ohhhh, of _course_ I do.” She perks up immediately at this. “Is it _time?”_

“Everybody buckle up. It’s time.” 

**Wrong Hordak**

He is safe, and he is comfortable. He is floating, he is at the ideal temperature. Nothing bad is here, nothing can harm him. All conditions are optimal. The comforting blanket of darkness is all that awaits on the other side of his eyelids, and he is disinclined to open them. There is no reason to. He is perfectly safe, and perfectly relaxed, and everything is fine. 

Until it isn’t. 

The dreamstate ends abruptly and violently. 

Light presses harsh and angry against his closed eyes. The warmth drains away around him, leaving him cold and shivering, slipping blindly against the smooth edges of his hollowed out sanctuary. He gasps and chokes as thick air replaces calming fluid, flinches and whimpers as hands touch him, fumbling with the cable connected to his axial port and grasping his bare limbs. He coughs up a mess of green liquid and through his foggy mental state babbles an apology.

“We’ve got you,” someone says, sure and steady and nearby. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Brother,” he manages to say, and then, “Cold.” He’s cold, so, so cold. 

“Can someone get him a blanket? And maybe some towels?”

“I’m on it.” 

He tries to put his feet underneath of himself, but they are slippery and the floors are smooth and he is dripping everywhere. He lurches, and hands grab him and stabilize him and keep him from toppling over. A name comes to his lips, a name to pair with a face. 

“Bow,” he says, and Bow nods and smiles back at him. 

“I’m here,” Bow says, “We got you.” And then memories rush back, and a sob bursts from his bare, helpless body. 

“They know,” he gasps, tears suddenly springing to his eyes. He falls to his knees despite the best efforts of the supporting hands on his arms, and weeps. “They know everything. It is my fault. It is because of me. I was not strong enough to fight them. I lingered - I lingered too long in the growth chamber, so f - f - f - fixated on my, my own insignificance in the universe, if, if I had only followed when Adora had called, I - “

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Bow is saying, and then there is fabric draped over his shoulders, and somebody - several somebodies - are carefully drying him off with towels. “It’s not your fault. It’ll be okay. They set up an ambush, you couldn’t have known. It’ll be fine. We’re back on course, they only have a couple hours of head start. Not even Prime can re-establish an entire galactic empire with just a couple hours and a troop carrier. Yeah?” 

He finds himself nodding, even though he is uncertain about the truth of any of these statements. He is so foggy, so overwhelmed by guilt and fear. Another memory surges to the forefront of his mind.

“Oak Leaf,” he gasps, clutching at Bow’s shirt and staring into the middle distance. “They have him, he has been captured, or - or - or - or else, he - he - he betrayed us? He… deceived me? I don’t - I don’t understand _why,_ I don’t - I must have done something wrong, I must have failed to use the right words to convince him. I don’t _understand, I -_ “ 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Bow is saying again. He feels a hand on his shoulder. There is another voice.

“His actions are not your responsibility.” This is - this is his brother. This is Hordak. Hordak brings his face in so that they are eye to eye. To hold the gaze is painful, as painful as the brightness of the lights, as painful as the cold of the air. “You have acted in the way you felt was correct with the knowledge you were given about the state of the world. You behaved according to your moral code and did what you could to give others access to the knowledge you had, so that they could make their own decisions. You cannot control what choices others make. The blame for his actions does not lie with you.” The words are so much, too much, and he is crying again. He is _so lonely,_ so horribly, horribly alone. He clutches at Hordak, and sobs, and sobs, and does not stop until he is empty and exhaustion claims his consciousness once more. 

**Catra**

She stops at the open door of Wrong Hordak’s room, lingering there on the safe side of the atmosphere field. Hordak is sitting at the end of Wrong Hordak’s bed, watching him. Catra watches him in turn, silent and thoughtful. When Hordak finally looks up at her wordlessly, he doesn’t seem surprised to see her there. They regard each other. Catra’s so damn tired. This has been… one of the worst days she’s had in a while. Still, the words come to her, and so she says them. 

“I’m sorry. For…” she gestures at her own face, where Hordak’s is partially obscured by a big square bandage. Hordak studies her, and then swallows once, and looks back down at the sleeping form in the bed. 

“You did not do it intentionally. I forgive you.” He doesn’t say anything else. She should probably thank him for pulling her out of the room. It had probably saved her life - everybody else had been on the bridge or in the engine room, focused on the chase. They might not have realized Catra was missing until it was too late. What a fucking way to go, choked out in your weird alien teammate’s bedroom because he sleeps better without air and you were too stubborn to go back for your helmet. Trying not to linger on that thought, she scrutinizes Hordak’s face and thinks about what he said to Wrong Hordak when they pulled him out of that life support pod. She thinks about the question she wants to ask, rolls it around in her mouth a little, and then decides just to go for it. She could be dead in a few hours, after all, if everything goes wrong on Kandrox. 

“Back in the Fright Zone…” she stumbles when Hordak looks back up at her. It’s probably just to show her that he’s paying attention, but it’s harder to say the words when those eyes are fixed on her. It feels too much like being eighteen years old and desperate to prove herself and terrified of the consequences of failure. “When Shadow Weaver took me to see you for the first time. What was it that made you…” she looks away, looks at her own claws, looks at the door frame, anything but look him in the eye while she asks this. “You know. Decide to make me a Force Captain?” Hordak takes in a slow breath and respositions very slightly on the end of the bed. He’s quiet for a while, contemplative. 

“You… are likely not going to like the answer.” He says, finally. She grits her teeth, feels her heart drop. No, of course not. Of course there isn’t going to be a nugget of approval or sliver of vindication anywhere in this story. She’d been naive to think maybe there could be, to still be holding on to the idea that Hordak had _seen_ something in her, had looked at that scrawny, desperate teenager and seen _potential._

“Tell me,” she demands. She’ll kill that dream if she has to. She’ll crush it so that she can move on, so that she can look for validation from somewhere other than the ghosts of her past. 

“You have… interacted with Prime,” Hordak starts cautiously. “You have seen how he runs his operations, how he organizes his followers. It was the only point of reference I had ever had. When I came to Etheria, I…” she risks looking at him, but he’s turned his face away now too, speaking softly and watching Wrong Hordak’s chest rise and fall beneath the blanket as he works through the answer to Catra’s question. “I did my best to model my use of troops after Prime’s. Individuality was simply a frustrating Etherian flaw that I had to stamp out or find a way to deal with. All of the soldiers were, as far as I understood it, effectively the same. The use of ranks was simply an organizational tool to replace what would have otherwise been accomplished with a hivemind network. I did not fully understand that these ranked assignments were considered marks of superiority or success among the soldiers. Shadow Weaver did try to explain it to me, I believe, but I had… little patience for her lectures.” Catra huffs; it’s almost a laugh. Almost. 

“So when Adora went missing, you really, genuinely did not give a shit,” she extrapolates, feeling impossibly weary. “You even said it at the time, I think. If you’re missing a Force Captain, just elect someone else. You didn’t care who. You only picked me because I was right there standing in front of you.” 

“That is… accurate,” Hordak says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I am sorry. I know that is… not what you wished to hear.” Catra does laugh now, although the sound is bitter, and in the same motion she lifts the heel of her hand to jerkily wipe away a tear. 

“At least you’re being honest with me, you old bastard.” She spits the insult but there’s not much venom behind it. It makes her feel so stupid that this revelation hurts. After all these years, after all this growth and change, she’s still chasing after anybody in a position of authority who might look at her and see that she’s worth something. She had clung so, so hard to the idea that being made Force Captain _meant_ something, meant that at the bare minimum she was as good as Adora, who had always seemed to earn praise and approval so easily. “I should go.” She nods at Wrong Hordak. “He needs rest.” 

“Wait,” Hordak says, and the rough, desperate emotion in the word makes her pause. She meets his eyes again, and reads in that face something… something like shame, maybe. “There was much I did not understand, when I came to Etheria. My - my assumptions and - and my _choices,_ they - they did significant harm. If I understood then what I understand now, I... “ he shakes his head, turns his eyes once again to Wrong Hordak. “I do not believe I will ever be able to fully atone for the damage I have done, for the lives I have destroyed. I have stolen liberty and dignity and life from every Etherian I have ever utilized as a soldier and disregarded as a member of an inferior, barely-sentient species. I understand that now.” Something about the misery in his face makes Catra’s heart harden, crystalizing into anger with sharp edges. No. Her forgiveness is not something he has _any_ right to.

“Well, congratulations,” she growls, low and unimpressed. “It took you fucking long enough. You want me to feel sorry for you?” 

“I do not expect that,” he says, surprising her with how dryly it comes out of his mouth. “My choices were made based on a flawed understanding, based on emulating the only structure I had ever known and the only style of authority I had ever experienced, but they were still _my_ choices, and I am responsible for them. I know that what I have done is unforgivable. I cannot apologize to every Etherian I have ever harmed. But I can apologize to you.” Catra clenches her jaw tight. She will _not_ let Hordak see her cry. “I _am_ sorry, Catra.” She takes a deep breath in, stands straight and squares herself like she’s going to punch something. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she finally says. “I’m done with letting people manipulate me. If you want to prove you’re actually different, you actually feel bad and can change, you can go do it far the fuck away from me when we get back to Etheria.” With each word, she lays another defensive brick between them. He’s hurt her enough. He isn’t getting another opportunity. Still… her heart yearns for resolution, for freedom from the chains of her past. It should feel good, right, that he’s apologizing to her? She loosens her stance just a little, heaves a sigh, looks at the floor. “Try again in like fifteen years, okay. If you’ve built enough orphanages with your bare hands by then, we’ll talk.” And then she pushes off the door frame and walks away from him, declaring the conversation over.

Because they both know it wasn’t just Catra’s childhood that fucked her up. It wasn’t just Shadow Weaver’s unchecked, unsupervised cruelty. Hordak wasn’t some faceless policy-maker who laid down the laws that kept them all miserable and stunted and indoctrinated, not to Catra. 

He’s got a brand new set of scars on his face to prove that.


	37. Ready

**Glimmer**

“We need to talk about magic,” she says, with no preamble. Adora nods, like she’s been expecting this conversation. “I’ve been doing some reading. I think I know how to teleport using the reagents my dad gave me. I know it makes you nervous, but - “

“Do it,” Adora interrupts, turning tired, serious eyes her way. Glimmer pauses, surprised. 

“I thought you’d tell me it was too dangerous.”

“We need to stop holding back. And I need to trust you to know your limits.” Adora sighs, leans back in her chair and stares out at the stars like the ship will move faster if she’s watching their progress. “I fucked up today. If I had just listened to Catra and we hadn’t split up back on Crelus, we wouldn’t have handed the clones the advantage and nearly gotten Wrong Hordak killed. I shouldn’t have left you back on the ship, I shouldn’t have decided that I was perfectly capable of protecting Wrong Hordak by myself.”

“Adora,” Glimmer says, rising from her chair with a frown, “this isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes,” Adora hisses through her teeth, “it _is.”_ Glimmer thinks about the way Adora crushed that metal sculpture with her bare hand as She-Ra, about the raw hatred in her face as she did it. It occurs to her that Adora isn’t mad at the clones - she’s mad at _herself._

“Hey. Taking all the blame isn’t really that different from taking all the responsibility,” she says, crossing the gap to take Adora’s hand in her own. “It’s sort of missing the point, to decide you’re the only person at fault, you know.” Adora makes a disbelieving noise and keeps her attention on the screen, avoiding eye contact.

“You were telling me about magic stuff. You’ve got the teleportation figured out?” 

_“Adora,”_ Glimmer growls, “you’re not changing the subject that easily. We need to talk about this.”

“Glimmer, we don’t have _time,”_ Adora sighs, finally looking her in the eye. “If we survive the mission to Kandrox then we can talk about it all you want, but we need to focus on getting ready for a fight. If the server is there, and it seems pretty likely that it is, those clones are going to use every trick they can think of to stop us from getting to it before they do. We barely know _anything_ about what we’re getting into because of the defensive satellites, and I am _trying_ to trust everybody on my team to come with me into that fight even though every single time we go to a new planet, _somebody_ gets hurt.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Glimmer says quietly, and knows she’s hit the mark from the way Adora clenches her jaw and looks away. “I’m scared too. There’s a lot at stake here, and we’re all still rattled from being so totally caught off guard by that ambush. But we’re in this _together.”_ Adora says nothing, like she’s trying not to cry, or maybe she’s lost in the angry circling of her own thoughts again. Glimmer sighs and yanks on her hand, trying to pull her up out of the chair. “Okay, come on. Let me show you what I figured out with the teleportation.”

“What, right now?”

“We’ve got a few hours still, and I know it’ll make you feel better to actually see it in action ahead of time. It’s not exactly the same as my teleporting back on Etheria, but - well, let me just show you. There’s really no reason for you to sit here glaring out at space. I know your chair can’t be any more comfortable than mine.” Adora relents at last, and flashes Glimmer a small, reluctant smile. 

“Okay. You want to go to the brig for this demonstration of your new and improved ability to poof in space?”

“That’s the idea!” 

  
  


**Entrapta**

“Oh, she is sleeping,” a voice whispers, echoing through the engine room and yanking her back to consciousness. She becomes aware of the sharp angle of the console pressed into her cheek, the cool damp of drool tracing the line of contact between soft and hard surfaces. “We should not disturb her.”

“No, no, I’m up, I’m up,” Entrapta says blearily, pushing herself up off the console and wiping her face. “Just needed a quick power nap. I only require twenty minutes of rest every three hours to continue functioning at an acceptable level of cognitive capacity.” She blinks the crustiness from her eyes and focuses on her visitors. “Hordak, Wrong Hordak, what are you both doing up? You should be resting.”

“We are approaching Kandrox,” Hordak says, stepping forward. It seems like perhaps he’s expressing something with his body language, something about his chest looking broader and his chin jutting purposefully, but she’s too sleepy to try to remember what those things typically mean. 

“But isn’t the plan for you to stay behind with the ship, after what happened on Jantix II?” She turns her attention to Wrong Hordak, standing slightly behind his namesake and mimicking the body posture. Hm. “And _you’re_ supposed to be asleep too. You were just kidnapped and launched on a collision course with the blistering core of a burning sphere of plasma. Why are you up?”

“Entrapta,” Hordak says, and she wishes she were a little less sleep deprived so that she could better analyze his facial features and tone of voice, because it seems likely there are several layers of meaning in the way he says those three syllables, “we have a favor to ask of you.”

“Of course,” she says immediately, and then has to stifle a yawn. “What do you need?” 

“We wish for you to arm us,” Wrong Hordak says. Unlike the moments after his retrieval from the pod, there isn’t any quaver to his words.

“Arm you? But you aren’t going planetside.”

“The two of us have… had a conversation,” Hordak says, and this surprises her, because that’s certainly an anomaly in their social patterns based on the data points she’s collected to date. “We have determined that neither one of us wishes to sit back and let the rest of the crew fight this battle for us. Prime is _our_ enemy, too. We cannot stand idly by while there is a possibility he will be resurrected.”

“Well,” Entrapta muses, running a hand over her tired face and willing her brain to kick back into gear, doing a quick inventory of the gadgets she has on hand that could prove useful, “I suppose you already understand the risks involved. I _did_ promise not to weaponize your exosuit, but…” she turns to her console and flips through her catalog of ongoing experiments, stops on a file and pulls up the wireframe image. A smile spreads across her face. “It doesn’t count if it isn’t part of the suit, _right?”_

  
  


**Adora**

“Melog,” Adora says, dropping herself back into her chair at the control panel on the bridge, “get ready for cloaking.” They make a noise of confirmation at her feet and press against her legs; she looks down in surprise at the openly affectionate, reassuring touch, and then looks across the room where Catra is watching her, tense and leaning against a console with her arms crossed. Ah. She tries her best to smile at Catra despite the thumping of nerves in her chest, and holds out a hand in quiet invitation. Catra pads silently across to her and perches on the arm of Adora’s chair, taking her hand firmly. They share a quick glance. 

“This is it,” Catra whispers. 

“We’ve got this,” Adora says, wishing she felt a little more confident. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Glimmer blusters from her seat, giving her staff a threatening swing. “Since when are a handful of clones and an old computer any sort of challenge for us? We’ll get there, we’ll kick some ass, and everything will be fine.” Adora nods, takes a deep breath. Glimmer’s right, isn’t she? There’s no reason she should be so fatalistic about this. Still… 

“I love you,” she whispers breathily into Catra’s ear, just on the off chance that this is the last time she’ll ever get to say it. Catra slides her a _look,_ and raises an eyebrow, like she can see right through Adora, like she can _smell_ her fear, which, okay, maybe she can? 

“You’re an idiot,” Catra whispers, and then leans in to press a quick, shy little kiss to Adora’s temple. “Nobody is going to die. You’ll be there to watch my back, and I’ll be there to watch yours. We’re doing this _together.”_ Adora smiles, runs her thumb across Catra’s knuckles, and allows the words to slow her mind’s relentless doomsaying.

“Whatever happens down there,” Bow says, “we’re as ready for it as we can be. We’ve spent the last month planning and training and gathering information. We’re here with you, Adora. We’re ready.” He puts a meaningful hand on his bow and holds her gaze for a beat before giving a determined nod. 

“As are we,” says Hordak from the entrance to the bridge, stepping out into view. He’s holding some kind of big gun and wearing an expression of steely determination. Behind him, Wrong Hordak appears as well wearing what looks like an armored space suit and brandishing a pair of electrified gauntlets. 

“Wh - wait, what are you - “ Adora splutters, standing up to get a better look at the pair of clones. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Entrapta says gleefully over the comm lines, watching from the engine room as the clones take their seats on the bridge. “I never thought I’d actually get to test these prototypes on this mission, you can’t _believe_ how excited I was when they asked me to find something for them to use in the battle.” 

“You’re joining us?” Bow asks with pointed surprise, the question and his confused look dancing from Wrong Hordak to Hordak and then back again. 

“I will fight for what I believe in,” Wrong Hordak says, puffing up his chest with a great shaking inhalation, clenching one gauntlet-clad fist and then pointing it at the planet ahead of them through the front window. “I will not let fear render me helpless. Among the Etherians, the word _brother_ has a different meaning. It means family, and family can mean genetic closeness, but family can also be chosen.” He squares his jaw and regards them each in turn, and then swallows, looking down bashfully. “We were thrust together by circumstance, but - “ he takes another breath, then sits up straight and looks at them with a jerk of his chin. “But given the opportunity, I would choose you as my family. My brothers. Will you allow me to fight by your side?” 

“Buddy,” Bow squeaks, wiping tears from his eyes. “Of course we’re your family. We would be honored to have you with us.” 

“And you?" Catra asks, her eyes on Hordak. “You got a big emotional speech, too? We’re almost there. Don’t make it too long.” Hordak snorts. 

“I will not waste your time with poetic nonsense.” He holds his weapon tightly with eyes only for the growing circle that is Kandrox. “I wish to see to it with my own hands that Prime never rises to power again. Is that not motivation enough?” 

“Alright,” Adora says, sighing because they don’t have time to argue about this, even if it isn’t how she really wants to run this mission. She turns back in her chair, facing forward. Forward is the only direction she’s ever really known how to go, anyways. “We do this. Together. Melog?” At her feet, Melog rumbles, and then bursts into magic. Invisibility tingles across the ship. Silent and unseeable, they float in towards the final planet on their itinerary. 

Kandrox. 

The grid of defensive satellites comes into focus as they draw near, growing in size from a series of evenly-spaced dots to a menacing network of bristling anti-spacecraft guns. Adora holds her breath as Darla approaches; Entrapta shuts off the engines and quiets their energy output, just to be safe, and they drift towards the gnashing maw of the Kandrox perimeter in tense silence. Frictionless momentum brings them gliding softly through the gap between three of the satellites. Her heart feels like it’s so loud it will give their position away. She doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare look away from the front window. They looked tiny from a distance, but as they get closer the satellites loom large and ominous, each ringed by a spiky dish of sentry arrays around a central gun like some monstrous, jagged flower in bloom. Each one has to be at least the size of Darla. Is it just her imagination, or can she hear the hum of energy coming off of them as they glide closer, agonizingly slow and desperate to not be noticed? Darla eases past them inch by inch. Catra squeezes Adora’s hand so tightly her fingertips start to tingle. Slowly. Slowly. 

And then they’re past, slipping through Prime’s defense network unnoticed like a moth threading through an electrified chain link fence. She takes a shuddering breath. Catra’s fingers relax their death grip on her hand. She knows she doesn’t need to remind Melog that the plan is to stay cloaked until they reach the surface of the planet, but the impulse to issue the order beats against her chest. _Trust them,_ she tells herself, and tries to focus on her own part in the mission. 

“I’ve located the signal of the clones’ troop carrier,” Entrapta says suddenly into the taut silence, and Adora jumps, as does Catra on the arm of the chair beside her. She looks sharply up at the monitors displaying the feed of the satellites behind them, as if they’ll have heard Entrapta’s voice and started turning around to attack, but they remain unmoving, staring out at space on their eternal watch duty. She sighs to defuse some of the keyed up tension in her body and then returns her attention to Entrapta. 

“Do you think it’s a decoy? Could they have parked their ship somewhere far away from where they actually think the server is?” She asks, trying to think of all the ways the clones could get the drop on them this time around. She’s not keen to be ambushed a second time. 

“They’re probably in a hurry to get to the server as soon as possible and escape the planet with Prime’s consciousness safely stored in one of their bodies,” Bow muses. “Do you think they’d have time for that kind of diversion?” 

“Well, according to the short-range scanners, the ship is inside of a building - some kind of big dome that’s part of a complex. This complex is the only thing on the planet giving off energy readings.”

“Okay,” Bow says with a nod, “so we operate on the assumption that that’s where the server is. Are we out of range of the satellite’s sensors yet?” 

“Juuuuust about,” Entrapta says, watching a monitor with her finger hovering over a button. “And… weeee’re… _safe!”_ As she says the word, she slams the button and the ship lurches forward, engines screaming to life. Catra yelps and Adora reflexively grabs her with an arm and holds Catra safe against her chest as the force slams them both back into the chair. The force of acceleration lasts an unimaginably long eight seconds, and then tapers off as they reach cruising speed. 

“We’re coming in to the complex,” Bow says, pulling up a screen to display the sprawl of buildings as detected by the scanners. “There’s the dome. I also see several defensive turrets, although I’m not sure if they’re active. Hopefully it shouldn’t matter since Melog is still cloaking us.” 

“Entrapta, think we can just crank the shields and bust through that dome like we did back on Prime’s flagship when we rescued Catra?”

“I’m sorry, you did _what?”_ Catra says, disbelief on her face. Adora flashes her a quick, cocky smirk. 

“Quick analysis on the structure of that dome says… yes!!” 

“Let’s go drop in for a visit then. Everybody ready to disembark. This time, _we_ bring the fight to _them.”_


	38. Kandrox Part One

**Bow**

They burst through the dome of the complex with a crash like the crack of lightning and the road of thunder; the impact throws them all across the cargo bay despite anticipating the hit. Alarms and warnings immediately flash across the nearest console - Darla’s screams of pain and protest at the violent breach - but a quick assessment shows him that nothing vital has been damaged. He brushes aside the warnings and pulls up a feed from the front of the ship to watch as they go careening down into the massive hangar, crashing through long-abandoned ships hanging decoratively from the walls, sending up plumes of dust and debris. Darla skids to a halt beside the troop carrier; Entrapta has the hatch open before they even come to a stop. 

“Move!” Adora bellows, already on her feet. Bow follows her down the ramp, selecting a net arrow by feel and nocking it to his bow, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He keeps close on Adora’s heels, guarding her blindspots as she acts as vanguard. Blue and golden light reflects off of the billowing smoke and dust of their landing as she charges, eyes ablaze. The outline of the sword whispers itself into reality against the palm of her hand. “By the Honor,” she shouts, “of Grayskull!!” 

Behind him and to his left, he hears the eager crackle of electricity. Wrong Hordak’s knuckles flash blue, their dancing patterns reflecting off of his armor. A blur of tawny fur and crimson fabric zips past him in the peripherals of his left eye. He trots to keep up with Adora, turning his weapon this way and that, ready to fire, shoulders tight. 

“Clear,” Catra’s voice snaps into his ear over the comm. He looks up and finds her perched thirty feet above the ground, clinging tight to a docked ship hanging from the inside of the dome. “No hostiles.”

“Entrapta,” Adora says, “Safe path this way - I’ve got a console ahead of me at the wall. Get us those blueprints.”

“I’m on it,” Entrapta says, moving with fluid elegance through the chaos of their landing site, rising up on her hair to make swift progress to where She-Ra stands like a beacon. She hits the panel like a force of nature, using hands and hair and even teeth to pull away any screw or wire or plate of metal that dares stand in her way. “Hacking in now. Power grid is live. The facility is active.” Bow follows the edge of the wall to the nearest doorway, a dramatic sweeping arch that exits the hangar dome. He checks carefully around the edge without fully exposing his head, doesn’t see anybody. 

“North exit clear,” he says. 

“South exit clear,” Glimmer confirms over comms. 

“I’ve boarded the enemy ship - it is empty. What do we do with it?” Hordak asks. 

“Find the engine room,” Bow says, mind churning rapidly. Even if the clones get Prime’s mind back, if he can’t get off this planet he’ll be effectively useless, at least for a little while. “Take their thulite crystals. They won’t know the ship is useless until they try to power it on.” 

“Affirmative,” Hordak growls, and over the comm Bow can hear the clank of his feet running through the troop carrier. 

“I’ve got the building blueprints,” Entrapta says, elbow-deep into the wiring of the console. “Sending schematics to your helmets.”

“Have you found the server room?” Catra demands. 

“The blueprints aren’t labelled, but I can track the energy usage and extrapolate. The room using the most power is deep inside the heart of the complex, in the central wing, north of the hangar dome, and two floors underground.”

“How’s that engine sabotage going, Hordak?” Adora asks, coming up beside Bow and standing guard with him at the north exit, holding a hand to her earpiece and keeping her sword at the ready with the other.

“One moment.” There’s a grunting sound, and then a clang. “I have the thulite. Exiting the ship now. What do I do with this?” 

“You have pockets!” Entrapta reminds him, giddy with adrenaline. 

“So I do. Alright. I see you.” 

“Everybody with me,” Adora says, taking a step towards the northern corridor. “Entrapta, what’s between us and that server room?” 

“There are two possible routes. There’s a narrow maintenance shaft we could follow, but there’s also an open pathway through several ship repair bays.”

“We take the open path,” Glimmer says, appearing beside Bow with an unnerving hiss and crackle of strange silvery magic. She’s got another little bundle of prepared magical ingredients in her hand, ready for use, and twelve more of them lined up on her belt. 

“Watch your charges,” Bow reminds her; that’s one already wasted. It’s been a while since she’s had to ration her teleports, and her muscle memory will have her using them with reckless abandon if she isn’t careful - Micah’s gift of reagents will only stretch so far, after a month of using them for practice and training. 

“Just like old times,” Glimmer laughs breathlessly. “Don’t worry, I’m counting.” 

“Glimmer’s right,” Catra says, dropping down into the entrance from up above. Melog apparates beside her, coiling around her protectively, aura a nervous red. “We don’t want to risk getting pinned down in a narrow area. We’ll have the advantage in a fight if we can move around. Plus they might have already blocked off that path.” Bow looks back over his shoulder and confirms Hordak and Wrong Hordak are with the group. 

“Everybody’s here,” he says, “let’s go.” Adora nods, sends a glance at Melog. The magical creature makes a sound, winds around the group once, and then they melt into the surrounding environment as if made of glass. Adora leads the way, all but breaking into a run down the corridor to the next area of the complex. They emerge out into a massive room filled with catwalks, scissor lifts, and cranes. This must be one of the ship repair bays. Bow scans the area, too late sees the green beam of light across the floor. “Adora, wait - “ he hisses, but her toe brushes the beam before she registers his words. 

An alarm blares, and the door behind them slams shut. 

“Greetings, She-Ra,” a voice echoes through the hangar, carried through unseen speakers, juddering uncertainly through long-neglected equipment. “Your arrival was expected.”

“No fucking _duh,”_ Catra snarls, stepping out of the protective invisibility with her claws unsheathed, putting herself between Adora and the unseen danger. “You only knew to come here because you were following _us.”_

“Show yourself!” Adora shouts, following Catra’s lead and emerging from Melog’s cloaking, putting herself shoulder to shoulder with Catra despite their now dramatic difference in height. “I’ve killed Prime once and I’ll kill him again. You saw what I did to his flagship. I won’t hesitate to use that power again.” Her tone is cool but brimming with ferocity, the promise of retribution in the loose, practiced grip of her sword. They don’t know that she could only destroy the flagship because she was channelling all the magical energy that had been stored up in the Heart for centuries. “This is your last chance to accept my offer of peaceful surrender.”

“Prime shall reign eternal,” the voice says over the faulty speakers, smugly distant. “He shall cleanse the universe of you and all like you. We have begun the download into his new vessel.” Bow’s heart sinks. How much time does that leave them to get to the server room? Can Adora do the same thing again to that clone that she did to Hordak, banishing Prime from his head with magic, if the download finishes before they get there? “In the meantime, please feel free to discuss your _terms of surrender_ with the facility’s security system.” The speakers whine back down to silence as a new sound echoes through the repair bay - the marching of metallic feet against metallic floors. 

“Bots,” Bow yells, “incoming!” 

“We can take them,” Adora grunts, eyes flicking rapidly around the room as she lifts the sword in preparation for the fight. “Entrapta, which way gets us closer to the server?” 

“West,” she yells, pointing to the left with her hair. The huge archway in that direction suddenly narrows and then disappears as thick metal doors slam shut. “Oh, dear, well, I guess I’d better get to a control panel and start figuring out how to hack that door, huh.”

“Yes please,” Glimmer squeaks, holding her staff ready. The steps of the bots are getting closer. 

“Here, Entrapta,” Catra says, hauling her up on to Melog’s back, “they’ll get you to a panel and keep you safe while you hack it. Go!” Entrapta only has time to murmur _fascinating_ before she and Melog are invisible, leaping off to the western repair bay door to try to find an access point where they can hack into it. Catra’s ears twitch. “Here they come!!” 

Fear freezes Bow for just the tiniest fraction of a second as the first bots come into view, flooding down catwalks and across workshop floors, marching in mechanical lockstep, spherical heads writhing eerily like eyeballs as they seek targets. There are _so many_ of them. Then he rallies his determination and fires the arrow he has loaded, taking out three of them in one go with a net, and everything erupts into a blur of action. The robots start firing; he ducks and feels the heat of a beam just a hair shy of his cheek. He loads another arrow, fires. He hears Glimmer snap open one of the vials of reagents and sizzle away in a silver teleport. 

Twelve teleport charges left.

She vanishes and reappears above a platoon of robots with a feral scream, dropping out the sky swinging her father’s staff and taking out several of them in one brutal arc. 

Bow seizes another arrow, aims, _fires._ Goo explodes over another group; trapped but not downed, the bots take aim at him and return fire. He leaps out of the way, cries out as a shot grazes his leg. 

“Bow!!” Adora yells. 

“I’m fine!” He answers, righting himself and nocking another arrow. This one - an electrical charge - neatly disables the gooped bots. But as soon as they sag and the angry red lights of their eyes go dull, another group of bots are climbing over them to join the fray. 

Beside him, Hordak screams wordlessly, fangs bared and hair wild and in his eyes, and pulls the trigger on his gigantic gun. A plume of raw lilac energy roars out of its muzzle in a line of devastation, scything a dozen robots in half as he sweeps it through their ranks. 

“What the _hell_ Entrapta, is that gun _thulite_ powered?” Bow yelps, momentarily distracted. 

“It’s a prototype!!” She giggles across the comms. “Isn’t it _pretty?”_

“Duck!” Catra yells from somewhere behind him, and then he’s flattened to the ground by someone landing on top of him. He realizes it’s Catra in the same heartbeat that she screams in pain and a bot’s gunshot crackles overhead. 

“Catra!” He yells, twisting around in her arms to check the damage. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she pants, “don’t get distracted!!” He registers a crusted, heat-cauterized hole in her left ear that wasn’t there a moment ago before she shoves off of him and throws herself back into the fray. 

“Brother!” Wrong Hordak yells, charging past Bow and throwing a punch at a bot that connects with a magnificent clang and a sour stink of burning electronics. It buys Bow enough time to haul himself to his feet and quickly fire an arrow over Wrong Hordak’s shoulder, disabling the bots taking aim at the clone’s turned back. 

“Uhhh, guys?” Entrapta says. “Slight problem. They cut off the power to the door. I’m working on rerouting it from another part of the complex but I think they _physically_ destroyed the power supply, and if that’s the case, there isn’t a way to get this door to open.” 

“I have an idea,” Hordak says, panting slightly. He rakes the blast of his energy gun across another wave of bots, and then turns towards the door where Entrapta and Melog are. Bow watches from the corner of one eye as Hordak rifles around in his pockets, but then has to redirect his attention to the battle as more bots climb over the bodies of their fallen comrades, firing round after round. Whatever Hordak is doing, he’s vulnerable while he’s doing it - Bow’s going to have to provide cover for him. 

He fires arrows faster than he ever has in his life, dodging beams of heat and whipping through the contents of his quiver at a frantic pace. Is he seriously going to run out of arrows before the bots stop coming? 

Above him he hears the sizzle-crackle-zap of Glimmer’s new teleportation, mentally counts down to eleven charges left. He risks a glance up and sees Glimmer and Catra back to back on an elevated catwalk, defending each other as bots close in on their position. 

“I’m punching a hole,” Glimmer warns, popping another charge of magic and then drawing a complex sigil in the air with her fist. Down to ten. But all that practicing she’s been doing has clearly paid off; her hands move to draw the spell with one swift gesture of her wrist and expert turns and curls and darting motions of her fingers, and just like that the magic is brought to life, a great roaring burst of blue-green-orange that explodes outwards from the levitating mark and downs maybe twenty, thirty robots. 

“On me,” Catra yells back to Glimmer, vaulting over her and charging through the wreckage, taking advantage of the line of devastation to rush the briefly stunned bots on either side of the blast and shred them with her claws before they can recover. Glimmer follows, shielded by Catra’s attack, and protects Catra’s back with furious swings of her staff, releasing howling screams as she goes. 

Bow turns his eyes back to the battlefield on his level of the floor, looses an electrical arrow to disable the bot turning its weapon on Hordak, who is hunched over his gun with the side of it open. 

“Is now really the time to tinker??” Bow yelps, reaching for another arrow. 

“I can get the door open!” Hordak growls, without tearing his attention away from whatever he’s doing to the gun. 

“I’ve got him, Bow,” Adora says into the comm, and moments later there’s a huge explosion in the corner of the room as she demolishes several platoons of robots. She takes a running start from among the scattered bodies of robots and then _leaps,_ flying through the air towards them with her legs pedalling and her expression wild, and then lands beside Bow and Hordak with a meaty _thud._ “You cover Wrong Hordak. I’ll cover Hordak and the door.” There’s sweat rolling down her face, but she flashes Bow a reassuringly confident berserker’s grin. 

“Got it,” he says, quickly finding Wrong Hordak and rushing to his location to provide backup. Wrong Hordak is surrounded now by bots as he whirls about, flinging his armored fists one way and then the next, downing one robot and then ducking the gun blast of another, gasping for breath. Bow grits his teeth and ignores the burning in his arms and shoulders as he claws another arrow out of his quiver, fires, another arrow, fires, another arrow, fires. The wall of enemies surrounding Wrong Hordak thins out, allows him to burst free with a few more heavy, sloppy punches. He’s getting tired. Why they didn’t suggest Wrong Hordak join Adora for physical training this entire time, Bow doesn’t know. Maybe it just never occurred to them that Wrong Hordak would be fighting. 

A fresh burst of prismatic light ripples across the room in time with a war cry from Adora, She-Ra’s magic devastating another wave of robots.

“Just how many of these damn things _are_ there??” Glimmer yells over the comms.

“We can’t keep this pace up forever,” Bow says, dragging Wrong Hordak out of the worst of the fray and pulling him towards Adora and Hordak. More bots advance and he disables another handful with a net shot, but one of them gets a blast off as it tips over and above him Glimmer shrieks in sudden pain. “Glimmer!!” 

“I - fucking _hate_ \- rationing - my teleports!!” She hisses. He looks up and sees her hunched over, clutching her leg. 

“I’ve got you, Sparkles,” Catra says, turning away from slicing swathes of destruction to go back for Glimmer, so fast she’s just a flash of fur and claws. Catra scoops her up and with only the smallest grunt of effort - _damn_ that girl is strong - hauls her up and over the railing of the catwalk, dropping them both down right as several blasts of gunfire converge on where they were a moment ago. Catra digs the claws of one hand into a support beam as they plummet, slowing their descent; with shaking fingers Bow quickly selects the arrow he needs, takes aim, and looses the special ammo. The arrow unfolds as it flies; the first end of the anchored net catches on a scissor lift, the second wraps around the support beam, stretching the sturdy mesh out between the two and catching the pair safely. 

“Thanks, Bow,” Catra wheezes. They’d have survived the fall without his intervention, but it would _not_ have been pretty. 

“Stand back from the door!” Hordak yells, jumping to his feet and brandishing Entrapta’s gun prototype. It seems to be glowing slightly purple and emitting a high, menacing whine. Melog roars and seizes Entrapta by the collar, flinging them both out of the way. Hordak aims the muzzle at the ten-foot-thick armor plated bay door, and pulls the trigger.

Everything goes lilac, dry heat filling Bow’s lungs. The noise of the firing weapon is so loud he doesn't even hear its impact with the door, so bright he doesn’t even _see_ it. His ears are ringing when finally the light fades and the heat dissipates and, through rapid blinking, he can see the wobbly, super-heated hole Hordak has cut through the door. In fact, the hole seems to continue out through the rest of the building. A hysterical little notion pops into Bow’s head: maybe Hordak even managed to take out one of the orbital satellites. This is insane. This is _insane._

“Door’s open,” Adora yells. “Come on everybody! Forget the robots! We need to get to the server room!” Her sword morphs into a shield as she positions herself to cover their retreat. 

  
  


**Catra**

Catra helps Glimmer hobble to the nearest wall to sit and lean against as Adora casually lifts an ancient, half-constructed fighter ship and jams it into the hole cut through the door by Hordak’s overclocked weapon. 

“There,” Adora says, with a huff, “that ought to hold them.” She turns and regards their ragged band. “What’s everybody’s status?”

“Glimmer’s hurt,” Catra says quickly.

“So is Catra,” Glimmer counters. 

“Me too,” Bow says. “It’s shallow, but it hurts.”

“I have also sustained injuries,” Wrong Hordak wheezes, clutching his neck. 

“I’m fine!” Entrapta chirps.

“Shit. Okay. Everybody gather in,” Adora says, quickly coming over to where they’ve all slid to the floor to catch their breath. She extends a hand, already coiling with the golden light of her healing magic. Glimmer is the first to take it; Catra places her palm on top of Glimmer’s, Bow places his on hers, and Wrong Hordak rests his on Bow’s. “Hordak, you okay?” Adora double checks. 

“I am fine,” Hordak says, looking a little out of breath but keeping himself out of the stack of hands. 

“Okay.” Adora closes her eyes and concentrates, and the tingle of magic floods Catra’s body. She feels the cartilage and blood vessels of her ear healing, regrowing, knitting back together; it itches uncomfortably, like it’s full of tiny tickling ants working to rebuild the tissue. To distract herself she studies Adora’s face, tracked with sweat and grime but thankfully no blood. If they weren’t surrounded by other people she’d use her free hand to cradle that face, so exhausted from fighting and burdened with responsibilities. When does She-Ra get to rest? When does she get to lie back and let someone else do the fighting, let someone else heal her? 

If they survive this - no, _when_ they survive this - Catra is going to put this reckless, incredible woman into bed and not let her take responsibility for anything more arduous than loading the dishwasher for at least a week. 

The golden glow recedes and Catra withdraws her hand, brings it to her ear to touch the spot that was a throbbing wound a moment ago. Just like that, she’s whole again. Even if magic still kind of gives her the heebie jeebies after a lifetime of being told to hate and fear it, it sure is useful. 

“Okay,” Adora sighs, straightening up and turning to Entrapta, who is watching with undisguised interest as Hordak removes the extra thulite crystal from his gun and tucks it back into a pocket, undoing his mid-battle modifications so that the weapon is actually useful for regular combat again. “Which way to the server room?” Entrapta looks up, looks back at the door behind them, looks ahead at the corridor leading out in the other direction, and points.

“That way.” It’s the only way they _can_ go, so that… makes sense. Catra snorts a little laugh at the flustered frown that appears on Adora’s face, and hops to her feet. 

“We need to keep moving,” she says, swinging her arms and willing them back to movement. Bow helps Glimmer to her feet, and Catra is relieved to see she’s totally fine after the healing magic. That was a nasty shot she took to the leg back there. Without Adora there to fix it, it was the kind of injury that would have followed her for the rest of her life. 

“Oh, hi,” Glimmer laughs with fond surprise, when Ceweldan neatly exposes Catra’s thoughts by headbutting Glimmer and rubbing their entire body against the healed leg. “I’m okay now, don’t worry,” she says to Ceweldan, and then flicks her eyes up and gives Catra a little wink. 

“Come on,” Catra says, walking away so that the others can’t see her blushing. Blech. Having multiple friends you actually care about is so _messy._ Beside her, Adora gives her shoulder a little teasing nudge with one oversized elbow. 

“Should we use Melog’s cloaking again?” Bow asks.

“There’s only one way for us to come from,” Adora says, shaking her head. “They’ll know to expect us even if we’re invisible. But maybe it’s not a terrible idea, even if it only gives us a tiny edge of surprise. Catra, is there a limit to how much magic Melog can use?” 

“If I must mask the entirety of the ship again, it would be better to preserve my strength. It seems perhaps wise to focus on keeping the one who does not fight hidden from danger.”

“They say if they use it on our whole group again a bunch, they might not have the juice to cloak the ship so that we can get back out through the satellite grid, but they can keep using it during fights to keep Entrapta safe,” Catra translates. Adora nods. The corridor turns and Catra peeks her head around the edge, ears perked to try to pick up any sounds of more bots. 

“Clear,” she says, when she’s certain there’s nothing around the corner. Adora touches her arm, just a little, as she goes past and continues on down towards their destination at a steady clip. It fills Catra’s chest with a flurry of warmth. She isn’t a distraction. She’s a touchstone of strength. Adora told her that, a few weeks ago during their late night stargazing on the bridge. She holds the words close, tries to clench them tightly enough to believe that they’re true.

“Up ahead is another repair bay,” Bow says, pulling up the schematics that Entrapta sent them all on his suit’s wrist console. “We’re entering via the south entrance. Our target is the stairwell on the northwest corner of the room. Then there’s another hallway, another set of stairs down, and that’s the room that’s using all the power.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen more bots,” Glimmer murmurs, twisting another charge of magical reagents nervously between her fingers. “You don’t think that was all of them, back there?” 

“It was certainly a _lot_ of them,” Bow muses. “I only have a few arrows left, and you’re down to ten teleports.” 

“I don’t know how you always track that so accurately,” Glimmer says, love creeping into her voice. 

“Habit,” he says, with a soft smile.

“Well, whatever’s waiting for us in the second repair bay,” Adora says, her shield reshaping itself once more to the sword, “we should focus on getting to the stairwell. Getting to the server room is our priority.”

“Do you think they’ve managed to get Prime’s consciousness back into a body by now?” Bow asks. Catra shudders, touches the back of her neck.

“It was always pretty instantaneous when he - “ she chokes on the rest of the sentence, feeling her body seize up at the memory of being taken over by Prime. Cewelden is instantly at her side, and she puts a hand into the mane of their aura, calming herself with the warmth of their head in her palm. 

“She is right,” Hordak says, picking up the thread on her behalf. “The process of Prime entering one of his vessels is one that takes only moments. That is dependent, however, on the vessel being part of the hivemind network already. I suspect the process of transferring thousands of years of memories to a single mind that does not have the supportive processing power of the hivemind will be much slower.” He pauses. “In fact… I question whether Prime stored all of his memories in any one vessel. During the battle for Etheria, he returned to one of his old vessels to retrieve a memory.” 

“So maybe the backup isn’t meant to be used in its entirety,” Entrapta says thoughtfully. “It could be packaged into a few centuries of memory to be accessed externally instead of all stored in one mind.” 

“But would that mind be Prime,” Wrong Hordak wonders, “if the memories are only of part of his lifetime, and not all of it?” 

“Uh, guys, I hate to interrupt, but,” Catra squeaks, “we’ve got a problem.” 

“What is it??” Adora says, brows furrowed, sword ready. 

“I hear more bots.” She strains her ears. Yep, that familiar clanking is coming from ahead of them. “And there are… a _lot_ of them.” As she says it, the end of the hallway and the entrance to the second repair bay comes into sight. Rows and rows of glowing red lights await them, too many to count. As one, the ends of their gun arms begin to glow as they ready their shots. 

“Behind me!” Adora yells, her blade flashing. She dives out in front of the group, drawing a glowing cut through the air, outlining a circle with the single whip of her arm. Magic thrums across the shape, a massive glowing shield, and with a chest-deep scream she sends it flying down the hallway and into the bots. Dozens of metal bodies go flying, tossed aside like dandelion seeds in the face of a strong gust of wind, but more bots just pour into the gap to replace them. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight our way through. On my word. Ready?”

“Ready,” Catra says.

“Ready,” Glimmer says.

“Ready,” Bow says.

“Ready,” Wrong Hordak says.

“Ready.” Hordak says. 

Claws gleam. Knuckles crackle. Magic sparks. A bowstring creaks. A gun hums to life. 

“For Etheria!!” Adora yells.

They charge.


	39. Kandrox Part Two

**Adora**

They fight their way through the endless swarm of bots, clustered behind Adora’s shield to avoid the ceaseless gunfire. Hordak and Glimmer take turns popping out from behind the defensive line to cut their path through the bots just a few steps deeper, clearing enemies with energy beams and blasts of magic while Catra and Wrong Hordak cover the rear. Their shield formation progresses slowly through the unflinching mobs of security bots, and each time a stray gunshot slips through her cover and one of her friends cries out in pain, Adora feels increasingly helpless and frustrated. She knows she isn’t supposed to entertain these thoughts anymore, but she catches herself wondering if she could have just blown through all these bots if she didn’t have her friends to protect. 

“Hordak,” Catra shouts. “Remember our fight in the forge?”

“What about it?” He shouts back impatiently, hefting his weapon for another rally. 

“Look!” She points up towards the ceiling, and Adora follows the gesture with her eyes. There’s an unfinished ship hanging high above them from a series of cables, occupying maybe a third of the vehicle bay. “We’ve almost cleared it.” 

“Hah!” Hordak belts. “Very well.” He leaps out to the next attack with renewed fervor, and once his sweep takes out more bots Adora bullies her way forward into the gap with a wordless cry of determination, the rest of the group following her into the breach. 

“We’re clear - “ Catra says, “ - drop it!” Hordak shoulders the huge gun again and points it not at the bots but rather up at the ceiling. The bright purple beam that spews from the end of his weapon slices cleanly through the cables holding the ship and with a loud metallic twang the last of them snaps. The ship comes crashing down, flattening maybe a hundred of the security bots beneath it and making the floor jolt beneath them. 

“A little warning next time!!” Glimmer yells, lunging out ahead of Adora and casting her burst spell. This time when the light fades and Adora rushes ahead into the newly made gap, the bots trickle in to plug the hole instead of filling it back up almost instantly.

“Four magic charges left, Glimmer,” Bow warns. 

“We’re almost to the stairwell,” Adora grunts, slamming back the pile of bots clawing and pushing against her shield. “I can see it from here.” 

“Final push,” Glimmer says, nodding at Hordak, “you and me together.”

“On your mark, then, Your Majesty,” Hordak growls, an almost frantic, eager grin on his face as he readies his weapon. 

“Ready, and - _now!”_ Glimmer and Hordak both spring out on either side of Adora, channelling bursts of energy in perfect synchrony, magic on her left and technology on her right. The last bots that stand between them and their destination disintegrate in the wider coverage of the dual beams, and at last the path is cleared.

“Go, go, go!” Adora bellows, standing aside and gesturing for everybody to make a run for it, shoving back new robots and covering the team’s flight to the stairwell. First Entrapta and Melog vanish down the stairs, then Hordak and Glimmer, then Bow. Adora joins Catra and Wrong Hordak in the rear guard and protects them with her shield as they back down into the stairs and into the dimly lit corridor below. The robots march in after them, firing as they go, and Adora’s arms - even as She-Ra - are beginning to ache from blocking the shots. 

A hand presses against the small of her back, firm and reassuring, familiar. Catra. She takes a deep breath, rededicates herself to the fight. Her shield flickers back to a sword; she straightens up and allows her emotion to flow freely instead of keeping it balled up tightly inside of her chest. 

She cuts once, a sweep from left to right, and pours her heart’s feelings into the stroke. _Fear._ She’s afraid. It’s a sharp emotion, clear and uncomplicated, heightening her senses and pushing her reaction times - a quick flick along the razors’ edge of her blade. 

She cuts again, from right to left. _Pride._ She is proud, in spite of it all. She is stronger than she has ever been. Her friends are incredible, powerful, united, determined. Of course Prime can’t come back. Of course they’ll be victorious. She is _She-Ra._ She is _Adora._ Victory is in her blood, because she’s already bled out every ounce of failure her body’s ever held. The cut is bold, decisive, deep - an effortless parry. 

She cuts a third time, a dip down into a swoop up. _Love._ She loves these people so much, and they make her feel so loved in turn. She has given so much of herself on the power of pride alone, but love has taught her to hold back, to reserve some parts of herself for the promise of peace when all is said and done. Love does not take. Love _gives._ Her friends have given her so much, and in that moment of clarity she makes the active decision to accept it, every bit of it. They came here on this months-long journey with her, they’ve taught her so much about who she is and what she values. The final strike is a targeted thrust, a perfectly timed exhale that pushes the sword cleanly to its target.

The lines she’s drawn in the air between herself and the robots change from golden to prismatic, surging and pulsing with every colour of light imaginable. 

Fear. Pride. Love. 

She understands what these things mean, held together in one breath. She feels it in her bones. 

Honor.

This is what it means to fight with honor, and to fight for the honor of the fallen. 

She has gone her entire life believing _honor_ demands she be brave, be humble, be selfless.

Somewhere unseen, Mara laughs with delight.

_Be afraid, Adora. Be proud. Be full of love, and allow yourself to be loved in return._

The stairwell fills with light as her eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t need to say the words, but they pour from her lips as the magic pours from her body, as natural as breathing.

“For the honor - “ the magic swells, assembles - she swings the sword, releases it in a devastating blast - “of Grayskull!” 

The force pushes her back, sends her feet skidding across the floor, but there is someone right behind her, bracing her body against the blast. She knows without looking that it’s Catra. The wash of light that explodes out and up and into the second repair bay leaves no bot standing; they fall limply to the ground in a cacophony of clanking limbs. 

It takes her a moment to come to, breathing heavily, blinking through sweat and tears. 

“Adora,” Catra grunts from behind her, shaking her out of the reverie, “I love you, but you are _so_ heavy.” Adora bursts out laughing, pulls herself back up to standing and whirls around to catch Catra up in her arms and spin her triumphantly. Catra shrieks and laughs and squirms. 

“You _love_ me,” Adora echoes back at her, high on the adrenaline of the fight. “You just admitted that in front of _everyone.”_ Catra splutters and blushes and wiggles free of Adora’s embrace, smiling the entire time. 

“I mean it’s not like it wasn’t obvious,” she says defensively, giving Adora a playful little shove. “Come on, dummy, we’ve gotta keep moving.” The group starts off down the hallway, walking for a moment in silence, and then…

“Soooo have you been able to do that this _whole_ time?” Bow inquires. Adora blushes and fiddles with the sword. 

“Maybe? It’s - it’s one of those She-Ra things that I sometimes just _do._ It’s not like… like throwing a punch, I don’t actually know how to do it on purpose.” 

“Ah,” Bow says, nodding like this makes perfect sense. Glimmer leans in and whispers something to him. Catra’s ear quirks and she stifles a laugh. 

“What?” Adora demands, feeling her cheeks getting warm. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Catra says, winking at her and brushing her tail along Adora’s forearm as she walks past, breaking into a jog. “We’ve got an evil space tyrant to take out, remember?” She chases after Catra, as she has many, many times before, and allows a determined grin to fall into place on her face. She sends one last cautious glance over her shoulder, but the army of bots has fallen silent, and nothing pursues them. 

“We’re almost to the server room,” Entrapta says, looking at the schematics from her wrist console. “This series of underground hallways connects up to all the different wings of the complex. At the first junction, we turn right, and then we keep going north until we reach the next set of stairs going down.”

“Be careful,” Catra says, slowing her pace a little. “I don’t hear any bots, but I smell… _something.”_

“What kind of something?” Adora asks, keeping her gaze low to the ground to watch for any more of those laser tripwires like the first one she accidentally stumbled right through. 

“Sort of like… like crispy… electrical… burning… metal… “ Catra scoffs and rubs her face in frustration. “It’s hard to describe. It’s something artificial. Something new we haven’t encountered. Some kind of tech.” 

“Oooohhh,” Entrapta crows approvingly, suddenly looking a lot more alert. “I like new tech.”

“Well, unfortunately, new tech doesn’t tend to like us,” Adora mutters, keeping her eyes peeled for any kind of traps or sentries. “That looks like the junction up ahead. Do you think it’s safe?” 

“Let me check,” Bow says, selecting one of the precious few arrows from his dwindling supply. They all wait as he nocks it, draws back, and then fires the arrow down the hallway and across the intersection. Nothing happens. At all.

“Was that… actually _just_ an arrow?” Catra asks, bemused. 

“I always need like, just _one_ normal one,” Bow shrugs. “If there’s some kind of trap, it’s not set off by a motion sensor. Let’s keep going.” They approach the junction and Adora goes first, switching back to the shield just in case. She steps out and looks around, but there’s nothing dangerous she can see. 

“Clear,” she says, and then turns down the hallway to the right. “We’re almost there. Get ready in case the clones decide to fight.” She’s walking, then jogging, and then suddenly she realizes she’s broken into a sprint. They’re so close. Her heart thuds, racing heavily behind her ribs. Her body aches with building exhaustion, but there’s no time for that now. 

“Adora, slow down,” Catra calls from a few feet behind her. She realizes the group is getting separated, strung out in order of running speed, and forces herself to pull back on the frantic pace of her bolting footsteps. The only indication that something is about to happen comes when she turns to look back at them all and Catra’s eyes suddenly go wide, her ears suddenly twitch. “Trap!” She shouts, and everybody skitters to a stop as slits open in the walls on either side of them. “Get away from the holes!” Catra yells, jumping back, and everybody else does the same just in time to avoid the lasers as they hum to life. Beams of bright green energy run like the bars of cages from one wall to the other, dividing the hallway into partitioned off cells every ten feet. Once activated, the beams are stationary, at least, and not some kind of horrible death trap getting smaller and smaller. Still, they’re now all boxed off and separated from each other. Catra touches a tentative claw tip to one of the beams and swears loudly, jerks her hand away. 

“Okay,” Adora says, trying to calm her panic, pacing the length of her ten foot laser-enforced detention cube. “Okay. Alright. This is fine. We just have to. Uh. Deactivate them? Entrapta?”

“Not much I can do without access to some kind of console,” Entrapta says, studying the ports in the walls that are generating the beams. “I could try pulling apart the wall bit by bit, but the entire thing is just one smooth piece.” She runs her hair along the seamless surface, finding no weak points. “It would take a while.”

“I have three teleports left,” Glimmer says, from the far end of the hall. “I can get myself and two others out of here. We don’t have time to fiddle around with disabling the lasers. Let me just jump past them with magic, that’s the whole _point_ of being able to teleport.” 

“Take Adora,” Catra says instantly. “Leave the rest of us. You need one teleport left in case of emergency.”

“Catra - “ Adora gasps, reaching towards her but finding the gap between the lasers too narrow to fit her hand through. Catra’s tail peeks between the beams and brushes against her ankles in consolation. 

“You know I hate saying this,” Catra says, holding her eyes, “but you’re the one that has to go to the server room. You’re the only one who can drive Prime out of a person’s body. I believe in you, okay?” Catra is crying now, her voice scratchy. “You can do this.” 

“I need you,” Adora whispers, feeling her courage faltering. She wasn’t supposed to have to face this alone. There’s a pop, then a sizzle, and then Glimmer fades out of view from down the hall and reappears in Adora’s cell. 

“Catra’s right,” Glimmer says, her jaw set and eyes brimming with unwavering determination. “But you are too. I can take her with us without using up my last teleport. Look.” She points, and all three look down to where Catra’s tail is crossing over between the lasers. Adora heaves a sigh of relief, then looks back at the rest of the crew. 

“Are you guys okay if we leave you here?”

“You go ahead,” Bow says with a nod, “We’ll figure out how to deactivate these. There’s no time to waste.”

“Okay,” Adora says, and then turns her gaze back to Catra, meets her eyes. “Come with me?” She asks, soft and terrified. It’s the most selfish thing she’s ever asked for, and she knows she could do this without Catra, but she doesn’t _want_ to. Not anymore. 

“Always,” is Catra’s reply, open and honest, afraid and willing, full of love. She puts her tailtip in Glimmer’s palm, and Glimmer takes Adora’s hand with the other. 

“I’m taking us directly into the server room,” Glimmer warns. “No more delays. No more traps. We’re close enough now that I know I can make the jump. Ready?” Adora nods, and Catra does too. Glimmer balances the little packet of reagents between the knuckles of two fingers. “Three. Two.” She crushes the packet, and it makes a little _pop._ “One!” 

This magic is not like Glimmer’s usual teleportation. It grips Adora from somewhere between her sternum and her navel, tugs and twists her like she’s a crumb being sucked down a swirling drain. For a moment, her bones turn to liquid and her flesh turns to smoke, and then briefly she does not exist at all. Then with a gasp she’s back, standing in a chamber surrounded by the flashing lights of a gigantic computer that fills almost the entire room. On the center is a podium, and on the podium is a chair that bristles with tubes and wires. Her stomach flops - not just from the strange teleportation, but from the familiarity of the scene. 

Her hand darts out, finds Catra’s, clutches it tight. Catra is _safe,_ she is here with Adora. Prime tried to take her, Prime laughed down at her once from a podium like this, from a chair like this, and he _didn’t win._

“Give up!” She shouts, and eight clones all turn their heads to look at her as she brandishes her sword. “It’s too late. Prime is _dead,”_ the word resonates through the chamber, and the clones snarl in unison. “And he’s _staying_ that way. Forever.” 

“It is _you_ who are too late,” a ninth clone says, standing up on the podium beside the one who is strapped into the chair receiving the download. A smile twitches at his face, and then he painstakingly smooths his features to neutrality. “The transfer of consciousness has been completed. Four thousand years of holy brilliance, gifted to this loyal vessel. All that remains is to wake him, and then once more all shall bow to Prime.” 

“No,” Glimmer gasps. 

“Seize them,” the clone on the podium says, and the others rush forward. Adora readies herself for a fight, but all eight pile onto Catra, dragging her down kicking and screaming and earning several bleeding gashes for their efforts. One of them holds a knife to Catra’s throat.

“We know your _weakness,_ She-Ra!” The podium clone cackles. “We have seen your companion’s memories. You will not put your _Catra_ at risk.”

Adora tastes metal, pungent and coppery. She smells ozone. Heat rolls off of her skin.

They couldn’t have made a more foolish mistake. 

She watches from her peripherals as Glimmer sneaks forward, trying to get a hand on Catra through the crowd of clones. Good. 

“I will give you one chance,” she whispers, her voice an inferno, all mercy and patience incinerated in its blaze. “Let her go. Now.” 

“You are foolish,” the leader cackles, oblivious to the danger he’s in. “The individual does not matter. All that matters is Prime and his eternal vision, his unending love and all-surpassing brilliance!” He runs his hand over a console, and the cables and plugs on the chair snap away from the unmoving body in its embrace. “Rise, my brother, rise as the honoured vessel of Horde Prime!” 

Despite the taut peril, the claws, the knives, the swords and roiling magic, everybody in the room stops and holds their breath and watches as the clone’s eyes slide open. 

“I - “ he gasps. His body jerks and lurches. He begins to scream. 

“No,” the leader of the clones hisses, rushing over to the chair, hauling the wailing clone upright. “No, it should have worked. What is wrong?? Where is Prime??” 

“Too - too much,” the clone keens, clawing at his head, fingers scrabbling at the port on the back of his neck, tears rolling down his face. “Who - when - what am - where am - I - I - I - “ he spasms in the arms of the other clone, then flinches away from him, pushing him. “Get away, no!” 

“The memories are too much for him,” one of the clones holding Catra whispers, staring in shock and horror. Seizing the opportunity, Catra writhes free of the stunned underlings and bolts across the room to Adora. She just about flings herself into Adora’s arms, and although she keeps her eyes and most of her attention on the scene on the podium, Adora doesn’t hesitate to wrap herself around Catra and hold her safe and tight. 

“We are on Kandrox, my Lord,” the leader says patiently, hopefully. “Your name is Horde Prime, and we are your faithful subjects. We have come a long way and sacrified much to bring you back, that you might rule eternal.” 

“My name is - my name is - my name is Horde Prime, my name is - my name is Oak Leaf, my name is - my name is Adabast - my name is - my name is Hordak - my name is Little One - Prime - Horde Prime - I am - I am - I am trapped, please, please, I am - I am - “ the clone staggers up from the chair and then immediately trips and tumbles down the stairs; all eight of the other clones rush to catch him, to cushion his fall. He screams and begs and orders and writhes. 

“What the fuck,” Catra whispers against Adora’s breastbone, “what the _fuck.”_ The sound of her voice makes the frantic vessel snap his head around unnaturally fast and start crawling towards her. 

“LIttle Sister,” he cries, inching across the ground like he doesn’t understand how his legs work. “Little Sister, _please.”_ Catra literally _climbs_ Adora, forgetful of claws in her terror and urgent need to be _away_ from this thing. Adora puts a hand on her thigh to stabilize her and hopefully ground her a little as she claims a new perch balanced up on She-Ra’s shoulder; as the claws of her feet scrape and scrabble, Adora finds herself thankful for the metal armor plating there. 

“Stay back,” Adora warns, brandishing her sword. The other clones all scramble to intervene, but Glimmer puts herself between them and their clearly insane eternal ruler, swinging the staff any time one gets too close. At the sight of Adora’s sword, Not-Prime sighs in… relief. 

“Thank you,” he babbles, reaching for the blade with his bare hands, “yes, yes, thank you, please.” Adora makes a noise of disgust and wrenches it away from him, taking another step back, and he regards her in confusion. “Please. Please? Please.” When she continues to stare at him, tears well up in his eyes again. “Please. Kill me.” 

“No!” The leader of the clones shouts. “Prime! My Lord! You must come to your senses, you must take your place as our rightful ruler! My Lord! My Lord I beg of you! We will give you another vessel, a better one, a new one! As many as you want, as many as you need, we will find the correct mind for you to inhabit!” 

“Please, kill me,” the clone at Adora’s feet whispers again. She regards him, extends her sword. At the movement, he smiles up at her and prostrates himself gratefully. 

“No,” Adora whispers, and the sword dematerializes. The clone whimpers his betrayal, turns his head up, and she presses her palm to his cheek. She summons the healing aura, wills herself to the state of peaceful forgiveness that precedes her ability to heal. To her surprise, she finds it isn’t difficult to forgive him. He is, after all, a victim too. Golden flickering light suffuses her arm, shoots down her fingertips. The clone inhales sharply, and then his eyes shift from green to yellow. He stares up at her in wonder, and then with a final sob slumps to the floor, unconscious. 

The room is silent.

Catra slides down from her shoulders, coming around her to regard the sad figure at her feet. 

“Prime isn’t coming back,” Catra says softly, crouching down to study the clone’s face with pity in her eyes. “No matter how much you want him to. That peace and sense of community and trust and love that he made you feel, it was an illusion. It was a lie. Once he died, you were never going to be able to go back to the way things were.” She’s facing the crumpled body that once was Oak Leaf, briefly was Prime, but her words, Adora knows, are for the other clones in the room. 

“We will try again,” the leader declares stubbornly. “Prime rules eternal! When one vessel fails, we must simply elect another!” The underling clones all look nervously at each other, seeming disinclined to volunteer themselves for the torment they just witnessed. 

“No,” Adora says, and just like that, her sword is in her hand again, “You won’t.” The leader watches first in baffled uncertainty and then in growing fear as she draws the lines of her power through the air. At the last moment, he throws himself out of the way, unwilling to try to put himself between the blast of magic and the backup server containing all of Prime’s memories and all the memories of everyone ever connected to his hivemind. The massive bank of computers crackles and sizzles, and then starts to burn. “Goodbye, Prime,” she says, crossing the room and stepping up onto the podium to deliver the final blow, plunging her sword into the heart of the server. “For good, this time.”


	40. Someone New

**Catra**

Over brunch on the third day into their return trip, Wrong Hordak announces that he has finally selected his name. Bow gasps with such undisguised delight, eyes sparkling brightly, that Catra nearly chokes on her hashbrowns from laughing at him. 

“That is _perfect,”_ Glimmer declares, practically vibrating with excitement. “Tonight will be our _party!_ We’ll _celebrate!”_ The musty old chest that Sea Hawk gave them as their parting gift has been sitting ominously in a corner of the multiroom since yesterday afternoon, waiting for their promised post-victory celebration, but they were too tired last night and _way_ too tired the night before. “Okay, okay, so,” Glimmer elaborates, “you should save the new name as a surprise and then _announce_ it tonight to kick off the party, and we can all toast to your new name to start the night!” 

“Or,” Adora says gently, with a wry smile and a hand on Wrong Hordak’s forearm, “you can just tell us now if you’d rather do it that way, and not make a whole spectacle out of it if you don’t want to.” She says this with the air of someone familiar with Glimmer’s well-meaning but sometimes thoughtless schemes, offering Wrong Hordak a way out. 

“Oh,” Wrong Hordak says, blushing as he looks around the table, “I did not expect a celebration. I did have a few words about my thought process that I wished to share, if it is not inappropriate for me to make myself the center of attention for the duration.” 

“You are _absolutely_ allowed to be the center of attention,” Bow affirms. “You know we all love you, right?” 

_“Oh,”_ Wrong Hordak says again, squeakily, and gives a few rapid blinks. His eyes are glistening with tears. Catra looks down at her plate of food sheepishly at the sight. She hates when people stare at her when she’s getting all choked up like that, so it seems only polite to focus her gaze down and pretend she’s only interested in sawing off another slice of sausage. Wrong Hordak clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “I think… I think I am too excited to wait until this evening. If it does not ruin your plans, I… I would like to tell you now.” 

“It doesn’t ruin anything,” Glimmer says amenably, and then her smile sharpens to a grin. “We’ll have the party tonight one way or another.” Catra smiles at the ferocity in those words. 

“You’re ruthless,” Catra says across the table to Glimmer as she reaches into Adora’s personal space to steal a sip of her fruit juice. “Okay, hit us with the new name. The suspense is killing me.” 

“It is possible I will try it and not like it, and change it later,” Wrong Hordak says nervously, fiddling with his fork, setting the fork down, and then fiddling with his hair, which has gotten surprisingly long in the time they’ve been away on this mission. “But I would like to try this one, perhaps, on the way back to Etheria, to see if it feels right?” 

“That’s completely fine,” Bow says, all compassion and understanding. “You can always change your mind. It’s _your_ name, you get the final say in what it is. And we’re all happy to help you try this one out.” The clone nods at this, seeming reassured, and takes a deep breath. Catra does look up now, wanting him to know that she’s being attentive and respectful. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Adora smile, falling in love all over again with the gentle, protective pride in that expression.

“I would like to be… Archa.” He says, swallowing and pausing to look at them - perhaps scanning for negative reactions, although he finds none - before continuing. “I have thought about occupational names, names that reflect one’s principles, that serve as a reminder of what one hopes to accomplish. Throughout the duration of this journey, I have experienced many things. I have fought in battle, I have participated in deception behind enemy lines, yes, but these are not the experiences I treasure. I do not wish these things to be my future. I have learned what it means to listen. I have seen the devastation of planets, the cruelty of selfish leadership. I have seen the power of healing. I have experienced the joy of familial love, the kind of love that does not demand subservience. There has been some time for thinking, and… I think what I have decided is that I would like to be someone who builds, someone who repairs, someone who heals.” 

He smiles at them, humble and sheepish. “After Prime was defeated, I thought that I was fit to be a teacher. I thought that I had so much wisdom and knowledge that others did not, and that it was inevitable I be a leader, of sorts. But this time with you has demonstrated there is so much I do not understand yet, and that I cannot simply assume what people think, what people believe, what people trust. I wish not to simply speak, but rather to listen, to _hear._ Rather than assume I understand what people need in order to recover, it is my hope that I can learn to be silent first, and allow them to tell me. And, thus… “ he gestures with his hands, and then brushes his hair back up out of his eyes again, “I thought I might style myself as Archa, as an Architect who listens to the needs of each individual, and takes the responsibility of accommodating their unique needs into his hands as a fundamental part of the creation process.” The stunned silence of the table at this profound thought process is interrupted only by an emotional little sniff from Adora’s direction that Catra is pretty sure only she hears. “And - “ Wrong H - _Archa -_ adds, just when Catra thinks he’s finished, “If it is not… too bold… I thought that… although we know now that Prime did not truly love us as he claimed, there was something meaningful in Hordak’s choice of names, that he offered Horde Prime tribute even as he chose to be an individual apart from him. In choosing this name, I thought that I might offer tribute in my own way to someone who has shaped me, and given me so much support and kindness as I learn how to live as an individual.” He’s looking right at Bow as he says this; Bow is crying openly, and has been for some time now. “The root of Archa is the word _architect,_ but it is also an homage to _archer.”_ Catra feels emotion pricking at her own eyes just from looking at Bow, who is now dripping both tears and snot all over his hashbrowns. “I hope that is… not overstepping.” 

“No,” Bow manages to squeak, getting up from the bench and throwing himself across the table - nearly toppling Entrapta’s glass of juice - to wrap the clone in a hug. “I’m _honoured._ I don’t even know what to say.” 

“That’s _beautiful,”_ Adora croaks, clutching a napkin to her face. 

“Welcome to the team, Archa,” Glimmer says, also crying as she gets up and walks the long way around the table to add herself enthusiastically to the hug. Out of curiosity, Catra glances at Hordak’s face to see his reaction: he’s keeping his face steadily neutral, but there’s a softness around his eyes that tells Catra everything she needs to know. 

“I’m not sure why everyone is crying,” Entrapta says, “but I think that’s a great name!” 

_“I’m_ not crying,” Catra says, now definitely crying, and slides out of her seat so that she can wrap her arms around the cluster of hugging nerds. “It’s a good name, though.” 

“Does that mean we get to have a party?” Archa asks, his muffled voice peeking nervously out from between the tangle of arms and torsos.

“Yes,” Adora laughs, issuing all four of the other members of the group hug a tight squeeze that makes them groan and squeak in protest at her strength. “We get to have a party.” They pull apart and they keep laughing and crying and hugging again. 

The fifth time Archa pushes his hair up out of his eyes, Adora offers him a hair tie. He looks at her in confusion, but Glimmer makes a giddy noise and a _gimme that_ hand gesture at Adora, so Adora takes down her ponytail (in front of _everyone,_ and Catra knows it’s a little irrational to feel possessive of Adora’s vulnerability so she tries instead of focus on feeling proud of her) and hands Glimmer the hair tie. With deft handiwork, Glimmer puts Archa’s hair up into a rather dashing topknot. 

“Damn, you’re good at that,” Catra remarks. 

“I went through a phase where I wore my hair up,” Glimmer says, blushing and touching her own hair self-consciously, “like all the murals of my dad had him wearing it.” 

“Incredible,” Entrapta remarks, admiring Archa’s new updo. “You look like a totally different person!” 

“I do?” He says, with quavering curiosity. “I… I should like to examine my reflection. Please pardon me for a moment.” Unabashedly nosy, Catra listens to him wander down the hall to his room and stick his head in front of the mirror, and is rewarded for her eavesdropping with a gleeful sounding series of gasps and mouth-noises. He admires himself for a full three minutes before scampering back into the multiroom. “I - I like it! Brother Adora, may I keep this??”

“Sure!” Adora laughs, brushing a hand through her now loose hair and tucking it behind an ear. Catra’s heart clenches at the unconscious motion. She’s so pretty. “I have tons of them.” She casts a glance at Hordak uncertainty. “You want one too?” she offers. 

“No.” Hordak says, and then, “Thank you.” He clears his throat, and then glances at Entrapta. “I have been neglecting my habitual grooming routines. I think it is time that I resumed them. Perhaps you will assist me this afternoon, Entrapta?”

“Sure! My offer still stands, you know. It’s _hardly_ the most difficult product to synthesize, and it’ll only take like twenty minutes.” Entrapta smiles hopefully at him, and he grunts.

“Perhaps.” 

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Bow says, sitting back down at his plate to finish eating, “We should move the table and the benches out of the way tonight and do a little dancing!” 

“Uh, Bow,” Adora protests, “the table and the benches are all bolted down. And anyways,” this said in a smaller voice, “I’m not really good at dancing, so. I’d probably just watch.”

“What, you mean you don’t want me to teach you some moves?” Catra purrs against her ear, seizing the opportunity to push her buttons. “I’m pretty sure I remember promising you more dancing.” Under the table, she puts a hand on Adora’s knee. Adora’s instant blush goes all the way down her neck. Catra’s smirk grows wider thinking about how much lower it probably travels. 

“Oh, we could unbolt them for the night!” Entrapta says cheerfully as Adora makes garbled, stammering noises. “It wouldn’t even be five minutes of work if I just popped down to the engine room to get my impact driver.” 

“Yes!!” Bow declares, now that Adora is too flustered to override his declaration of tonight’s dance party. 

“I’m gonna take brunch down to the prisoners,” Glimmer says, sounding weirdly gleeful about it. “Catra, Adora, will you help me carry things?” 

“Sure,” Catra says, tossing the last length of sausage into her mouth and chewing as she takes her dishes to the kitchen. She has a sneaking suspicion there is something deliberate in Glimmer’s choice of chore helpers. Her feeling is proved correct when just outside the brig, she comes to a stop and takes a conspiratorial look around. 

“I had a great idea,” Glimmer whispers, “for a gift you could make Wr - Archa, for the party tonight. I think there’s still time to do it, if you let me and Bow handle all the other preparations.” 

  
  


**Adora**

On an impulse, Adora leaves her hair down. Partly it’s because she’s really enjoying the way Catra keeps sneaking glances at her and using it as an excuse to touch her, brushing stray strands back behind her ears, but she also feels like this is a safe environment to experiment, to test new things, to see just what it’s like to leave it down for once. 

Catra looks at her with unbearable softness, as if to say _I see you,_ and the vulnerability of being so thoroughly understood is almost painful. Almost. 

Feeling like the night is _special,_ she goes questing through her collection of clothes and finally finds what she’s looking for. The blue sleeveless blouse is one of the few things she bothered packing from that exhausting day with the Erlandian tailor’s guild; she hasn’t found a reason to wear it yet, but she likes the dark, rich color of it and how soft it feels against her skin. She can feel Catra’s eyes on her as she changes, knows she’s blushing as she turns back around to face her.

“What do you think?” She asks nervously. Wearing literally anything new always makes her feel so awkward and stupid. Catra slides off the bed and presses their bodies together, an arm looped around her waist. 

“I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Catra rasps into her ear, making Adora’s breath hitch, “and I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to wear something that actually shows off your arms.” Adora giggles nervously, taking Catra’s face in her hands and kissing her instead of trying to think of how to respond to the lavish praise. Catra leans into the kiss with a happy little noise in her throat, and Adora wonders if maybe they could just stay here and kiss for the rest of the night instead of going to the party. Alas, Catra pulls away after just a few moments.

“I wasn’t done,” Adora whines, as Catra withdraws her arm from around her waist and wanders to the foot of the bed. 

“What, with kissing me?” Catra laughs, leaning down to rummage through Adora’s piles of clean clothes. 

“Yeah,” Adora sulks, coming over to investigate what Catra’s doing.

“I hope you’re never done with that,” Catra says casually, and it makes Adora’s heart skip a beat. It’s almost like saying _forever._

“Whatcha doing?” She asks, trying for cool and relaxed. “You know those are _my_ clothes, right?”

“Not that you ever wear half of them,” Catra chuckles. “I can’t let you be the only one showing up to the party looking sexy.” Oh, and she’s blushing again. _Sexy._ It makes her want to giggle and hide her face, but also smirk and flex? Catra thinks she’s _sexy._ “Here it is.” Catra produces a white button-up from the pile, tossing it to the bed while she peels off her shirt. Adora watches covetously while she undresses and doesn’t even try to pretend that’s not what she’s doing. Catra laughs at her and gives her hips a sultry little wiggle before throwing the old shirt directly at Adora’s face. Adora squawks in surprise, momentarily blinded. Catra snickers at her, and it makes her heart so _full_ that she chucks the shirt away and interrupts Catra in her state of undress to kiss her again. “Mmm,” Catra hums happily, running her palms up Adora’s back, sliding easily along the silky fabric of the new shirt, “I’m never going to get dressed at this rate.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Adora growls hungrily, grasping a greedy handful of Catra’s ass. The little whimper that escapes Catra tips her firmly over into _smirking._

“We haven’t even started drinking and you’re already handsy,” Catra laughs breathlessly, pulling back to grin up at her, reaching out to card her fingers through Adora’s hair and tuck it back behind her ear. The gesture is automatic and full of tenderness, and it softens the impatient rumble of Adora’s libido back down into a burning affection. 

“Sorry,” Adora chuckles, releasing Catra and retreating a little so that she can get dressed in peace.

“Don’t be,” Catra smirks, seizing the collar of Adora’s shirt and tugging her back down for a searing kiss. By the time Catra finishes and pulls away, looking distinctly smug, Adora can only stand there feeling dazed and blissful. “Dork,” Catra says fondly, and then grabs the button up - _Adora’s_ button up - from the bed. Adora remembers this one feeling a little tight around the shoulders, so she isn’t surprised when Catra pulls it on and the fit looks elegantly loose instead of actually too big for her. She masterfully does up the buttons without breaking eye contact, and it’s all Adora can do to keep her hands to herself. Catra stops buttoning the shirt just above where her stomach meets her ribcage, leaving the top third artfully open and her neck and chest exposed. 

“Are - “ Adora stammers, “Are you gonna wear it like that?” 

“What,” Catra teases, doing a little demonstrative spin, “Don’t you like it?” 

“I think _like_ is an understatement,” she says, shaking her head in wonder. Still, something about the bare expanse of Catra’s sternum begs for some kind of addition, and it reminds her of something she’s been meaning to do. “Oh, hey, uh. I have a little something I’ve been working on I wanted to give you. It might actually look really good with that shirt.”

“Oh yeah?” Catra’s smirking confidence gives way to wary curiosity. 

“Yeah, hang on,” she says, crossing the room to where her leatherworking kit is still spread out in a messy sprawl after the afternoon’s frantic rush to finish the gift for Archa. She rummages through it and finds what she’s looking for, then tucks it into a palm and hides it behind her back as if Catra hasn’t been right beside her the whole time she’s worked on any of her little leather practice projects. She knows she’s blushing again, her face hot with embarrassed hopefulness. It feels so childish, this gift, but maybe it just feels that way because it’s a simple, earnest kind of thing, uncomplicated and sincere. Catra’s watching her with a blank face that Adora knows means _afraid to be disappointed because since when has a surprise ever meant something good,_ so she doesn’t waste time on more theatrics. She puts her hand out in front of herself and opens her fingers so Catra can see the simple necklace. It isn’t much more than a braided leather cord that she stained her fingers dying a dark brown, but she’s proud of it because she _made_ it herself, cut the strips and picked the colour and burnished the edges to shiny smoothness with her own hands. “I thought, y’know, while I was making this, that maybe, you’d like it? I think it’d look pretty on you, but I mean - anything would look pretty on you, because _you’re_ pretty, and - I mean - only if you _want_ it?” She’s been looking at the object in her hands, maybe a little afraid to meet Catra’s eyes and see that she’s unimpressed with the offering. “It isn’t very good, but, you know, maybe I’ll get better if I keep practicing, and I could make you one that’s better than this if you don’t like it?”

“You made that for _me?”_ Catra says, soft and trembling, and when Adora looks up at her she’s got both of her arms curled around herself protectively, like she was bracing for a blow, and the shine of tears is in her eyes. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, swallowing hard. She can see the tension and the emotion at war in Catra’s posture, knows there’s probably a _lot_ going on in that head of hers, so she doesn’t make any sudden movements, only slowly extends her hand with the necklace in it. Catra’s eyes are drawn to the movement, and she cautiously uncoils and reaches, tentative, for the gift. When she finally takes it, Adora lets out the breath she was holding. “Do you like it?” Catra regards the braided cord with a solemn expression, running her fingers along it like it’s made of precious metal or rare fabric. Then she turns her eyes, devastatingly worshipful, on Adora. 

“You _made_ this for me. Of _course_ I like it.” She stretches it out to its full length, rubbing the clasp between her fingertips. “Help me put it on?” 

“Yeah,” Adora breathes, closing the gap between them and delicately taking the necklace back from her and slipping behind her to loop it around her neck. Her hands are sweaty and it takes a little fiddling, but eventually she gets the clasp closed and allows it to fall slack against Catra’s neck. Catra turns in place to face her with a vulnerable little smile, glancing down at her own breastbone to examine the way the cord drapes down over her chest, a dark U shape against her tawny fur and a counterpoint to the white V of the open shirt. The sight makes Adora a little dizzy. It feels like maybe _forever_ with Catra like this isn’t just an idle fantasy. “It looks really good on you,” she says, knowing that the wistful longing of her imaginings is creeping into her voice, “Both the necklace _and_ the shirt.” 

“I’ll have to start stealing your clothes more often,” Catra jokes, and Adora knows it’s a defensive joke to keep herself from getting too overwrought right before they need to go see their friends, so she swoops in with another kiss to give Catra a way to say what she wants to say without needing to go to the effort of words. Adora is still learning this particular language, but she’s been studying Catra’s many unspoken forms of communication for the better part of two decades and so she feels pretty confident that the rough translation of Catra’s urgent, pressing kiss is something along the lines of _thank you._

There is a knock at their door, and Catra pulls away reluctantly to answer it. Glimmer’s jaw drops when she sets eyes on the pair of them.

“You’re finally wearing one of the things we got made for you!!” She exclaims, and then, squinting at Catra for a second, “Wait, isn’t that - “ she cuts herself off with a sigh of surrender, slipping inside their room without invitation. “Anyways. Everything’s ready for the party. Did you guys manage to get it done??” She hisses in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“I was worried I wouldn’t have time to dye it because it has to dry between coats, but I actually got the pattern cut out and the decorative stuff done a lot faster than I expected to,” Adora says, beaming and feeling really proud of herself. Her belief in the power of unwavering practice is yet again vindicated. “That sketch you did of how it’s all supposed to look really helped,” she adds, to make sure Glimmer feels involved since this gift was _her_ idea.

“Ahhh, can I see it!?” Glimmer scream-whispers, hopping from foot to foot with excitement.

“We already wrapped it!” Catra protests. Well, they didn’t wrap it so much as repurpose the fabric gift bag that Catra’s woodworking kit came in. “You can see it when we give it to him.” 

“Fine,” Glimmer huffs. “You two better get over to the multiroom. You remember the song we taught you?” 

“Maybe,” Catra says, at the same time that Adora proudly declares “Yes!” 

“Okay, come on. I’m just on my way to grab Entrapta and Hordak and then once everybody’s in the multiroom I’ll go get - uh - “ she pauses, needing a beat to remember his new name, “Archa.” 

“Okay, okay, we’re going,” Adora laughs, when Glimmer darts back out into the hallway and then gestures for them to follow suit. 

  
  


**Glimmer**

“I just don’t understand why we’re sitting in the dark,” she hears Entrapta say, from down the hall, before Catra hisses,

“Shhhh, they’re coming!” Glimmer smiles to herself, pleased to see Catra getting into the spirit of the surprise party even though it is not at all a surprise that they are having a party. She leads Archa by the arm, since after all he is the guest of honor, and enjoys the way he still settles into that confused, good-natured smile when he has absolutely no idea what’s going on but is content to play along. They turn the corner into the multiroom and Bow flicks the light on, and everybody yells:

“Surprise!!” Archa gasps and claps and beams brightly, even though, as established, this is not in fact a surprise to him at all. 

“Ready everybody?” Bow calls, leaning forward in the bean bag chair they’ve dragged to the multiroom from their room, hand raised to strum the first chord on his lute. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just launches heartily into the tune. “Haaaaaappy Biiiiirthday tooooo youuuu,” he sings, and Glimmer throws herself into the song wholeheartedly alongside him. Entrapta of course also knows all the words and joined in right on cue, and Adora seems to mostly be getting them right. Hordak seems to just be moving his mouth and pretending that he’s singing, but that’s okay - Catra and Melog’s joint yowling is loud enough for approximately three Hordaks. “Haaaaaaappy Biiiiiirthdaaaaaaaay tooooooooo youuuuuu!” Glimmer pushes Archa further into the room, to where Adora is obediently holding the birthday cake Bow frantically whipped together this afternoon, since they have no table to put it on right now. “Haaaappy Biiiiirthday deeeeear Aaaaaarchaaaaaaaaaa!” Glimmer slings a friendly arm around his shoulders, sharing a giddy grin with Bow as he improvises a bit of fancy fingerstyle before launching into the final _Happy Birthday to you._ They finish singing and everybody claps and cheers, and Archa smiles, baffled. 

“But I did not emerge from an organic host!” He protests, through his smile, “And I certainly did not do that _today!”_

_“Everybody_ deserves to have a birthday,” Bow declares insistently, propping the lute up against a wall so he can rise and give Archa a big hug. “Just as an excuse to celebrate and be loved by your friends. So we decided today is kind of like your birthday, since it’s the day you picked a name for yourself.” 

“I - that is - _thank_ you,” Archa says effusively. His attention is drawn to the cake. “What is _this?”_

“It’s chocolate cake,” Bow says, with a grin. “Served at room temperature, and intended to be chewed.” He winks at Archa, who reacts with a delighted, burbling little laugh. “Before cake, I think we should probably open that whiskey. I have no idea how it’s going to taste, but I can _guarantee_ it will be horrible if we’ve just had cake.” 

“So, uh,” Adora says, holding it with the utmost of care, “What do I… uh… do with it?”

“You can put it back in the kitchen for now,” Bow laughs. 

“Oh, right!” She carries the birthday cake reverently into the kitchen, and Glimmer watches her go fondly. 

“I always forget this kind of stuff is new to her too,” She remarks to Bow in passing.

“And _me_ too,” Catra interjects. “When’s _my_ birthday? I want cake and presents.” Her petulant tone is balanced by the playful smirk she’s wearing - it makes Glimmer want to chase her down and give her a noogie, for some reason, but she _very maturely_ resists the urge. 

“We’ll have to pick a day to be your birthday,” Bow says earnestly. “And Adora, too.” 

“What about me?” Adora asks, coming back in from the kitchen. 

“I just scored us each a birthday, thank you very much,” Catra tells her sagely, as if this is some grand victory against the universe - and, considering their histories, maybe it is. 

_“Nice,”_ Adora says, looking genuinely stoked, and Glimmer feels suddenly guilty that it has never occurred to her before now to bestow Adora with a birthday, and they’ve been friends for _how_ many years? 

“Okay, whiskey first, or presents?” Bow asks.

“Presents!!” Glimmer squeals. She’s too impatient to wait!! She wants to see how it turned out! 

“Oh, you did not have to,” Archa says, a shadow falling over his face. Oh. Oh, shit, she forgot what happened the last time somebody gave him a present. Shit. Fuck. Maybe this will be a good thing, though? Wipe out the bad old memory with a good new one? 

“Come on Catra, give him the present,” she urges, needing to see him smile again.

“You are _so_ pushy,” Catra laughs, but pulls the fabric gift bag out from behind her back and walks over to Archa and holds it out to him. “It’s nothing big, but. I hope you like it.” Adora comes up beside Catra and wraps an arm around her waist. Glimmer feels her heart give a little wistful sigh. They really are such a beautiful couple. Archa takes the gift and opens the drawstring of the bag quizzically, reaching inside and extracting the small object. 

“Oh, you _guys,_ it turned out so _good,”_ Glimmer gasps. 

“I hope you will forgive me for not knowing, but - “ Archa says, turning it around in his hands, “What is it?” He holds it to the light, a smooth leather oval about two inches across that’s folded over into an arching half-moon shape, held in place by a wooden pin with a rough little carving of a stylized heart at the wide end. 

“It’s a stick barrette,” Glimmer explains, beaming, “You can use it instead of an elastic band to hold up your hair. It might work a little better than an elastic, too, if you decide to keep growing it out even longer.” 

“Oh, how marvelous,” he says, turning it around in his hands. “How did you know to bring one of these, Brother Catra?” Glimmer notices, for the first time, that Archa doesn’t call Catra 'Sister' even though Prime clearly must have called her that at one point, from the babblings of the Not-Prime back on Kandrox. Maybe that’s why she tolerates the title. 

“We didn’t bring it,” Catra says, and the open pride in her face is genuinely a joy to behold. “Adora and I made it together, just for you.”

“You _made_ this?” He gasps, looking at it now with even more interest. “Why, this is wonderful. _Thank_ you. Can I - can I wear it now?” 

“Here, I can do it for you,” Glimmer says, and he hands her the barrette and ducks his head down so that she can reach his hair. She admires the little whimsical patterns Adora has carved into the leather and the different tones of light and dark brown she’s finished it in. She takes the hair tie out and holds it in her mouth absently so that she has her hands free to gently pull Archa’s hair back again and tie it once more into a handsome little topknot, this time securing it with his new stick barrette. “There you go! I’ll teach you how to do it yourself later.” He stands up straight and touches it in his hair with a little smile. 

“Thank you. This is truly the best birthday I have ever had.” He pauses, and then the smile gets wider. “That was a joke, you see, as it is the only one I have ever had!” Catra snorts, and Glimmer _guffaws._ He actually had her there for a second. 

“Alright, now it’s time to drink!” Catra declares. 

“I’ll get the glasses!” Bow says, scurrying to the kitchen. 

“Glimmer, you still have the key to the chest, right?” Adora asks. 

“You bet I do,” she smirks, fishing it out of her pocket. She does not reveal that she spent a frantic forty minutes looking for it in the mess of her half of the bedroom earlier this afternoon. They don’t need to know that. 

“Crazy pirate whiskey drunk, here I come,” Catra announces, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. 

“I’ve never seen you drunk even once, Catra,” Glimmer protests laughingly, as she wanders to the chest and squats down to open it. 

“This is a special occasion!” Catra insists. 

“Okay, but I’m cutting you off if you start singing shanties,” she retorts, and Adora titters at the very notion. The big glass bottle is dense and heavy, and the golden-brown liquid inside sloshes threateningly as she withdraws it from the case. “And remember, we promised Sea Hawk we’d save him some. He pulled this out of a burning shrine to facial hair or something.”

“I’m going to sample some, for science,” Entrapta says, peering over Glimmer’s shoulder as she turns it around in her hands, trying to figure out how to go about uncorking it, “but I won’t have more than just a sample.” 

“That’s fair,” Bow says, emerging from the kitchen with several cups balanced in his arms, distributing them as he goes. “Melog, are you having any?” The alien’s tail swishes as they make a chuffing noise. Catra laughs.

“Yeah, they’ll try some,” she translates. “They want it out of a bowl, though.” 

“I’ll get one!” Adora offers helpfully, and presses a little kiss to Catra’s cheek before skipping off to the kitchen. Catra catches Glimmer watching this and blushes; Glimmer sends her a smile and then turns her attention back to the bottle. 

“I think this thing is wax sealed. Do I need a knife or something to open it?” 

“Here, give it to me,” Catra says, apparently already over her sheepishness at being caught receiving affection from her girlfriend - _the audacity -_ and extending a clawed hand towards Glimmer.

“Oh yeah, that should work,” Glimmer says, following her logic and handing it over. Catra’s sharp nails make short work of the wax seal, and then Bow produces a corkscrew he found in the kitchen while collecting cups. Between the two of them, Catra and Glimmer manage to get the cork out, and as soon as they do a rich, earthy, oaky, _boozy_ smell fills the air. 

“Oh, fuck,” Catra laughs, coughing and holding the bottle away from her nose, “That’s _strong._ I think I might already be buzzed just from breathing it.” Glimmer takes it from her and carefully pours a little bit into each person’s cup. Just a little bit to start, since they have no idea how strong (or poisonous) it is. The bottle goes back into the kitchen, where it can’t be knocked over carelessly, and then… 

It’s happening. They’re here. All eight of them still alive and in one piece, Prime defeated, victory booze in hand, standing in a circle in the cleared out multiroom and raising a toast to peace, peace, peace at long last. She mulls over the right words to say, about whether she should focus on celebrating Archa, or say something about the war, or - 

“To Horde Prime!” Catra declares, lifting her glass high. “An egomaniac thousands of years old and still too fucking arrogant to make an emergency backup plan that actually works!” Everybody laughs - some a little more awkwardly than others. 

“May the universe forget him,” Hordak says fervently, raising his glass to match Catra’s in height. Now _that,_ Glimmer can drink to. As one, the rest of them lift their glasses.

“May the universe forget him!” They say, in unison, and then drink. The sharp, eye-watering smell of the fumes hits Glimmer an instant before her lips touch the edge of the cup, a threat of what’s to come with just enough warning to make her anticipate that this will not be fun before she tosses her head back and opens her mouth and prays to survive this experience. It’s like being punched in the face. This is what she imagines it would feel like to dip your tongue in embalming fluid. Her sinuses shriek their disapproval. She swallows it down out of sheer stubbornness, and comes back up from the shot of ancient pirate whiskey screaming.

“Okay!!” She howls, surrounded by people coughing and choking and blowing air. “Who’s ready to dance??” 

  
  


**Catra**

Catra does not, in fact, get pirate whiskey wasted. She gets just giddy enough and loose enough to have a _marvelous_ time trying to teach Adora to dance, and then after an hour or so they both switch to water because they agree they’re starting to feel a little sloppy and want to make sure _somebody_ on the ship is sober enough to remember to feed the prisoners in the morning. 

When the ship’s light cycle reaches the state of darkness that suggests somewhere around one or two in the morning, they hug all of their _very_ drunk friends and then call it a night. At Adora’s insistence, they make a detour to bring a piece of birthday cake for each of their ten tightly packed clone prisoners in the brig, and Catra pretends not to notice the way Adora looks longingly and sadly at the punching bag trapped in there with them, resists the urge to say _I told you so_ about its placement. 

When they get to the bedroom she starts to undress, but Adora whispers _let me,_ and takes her hands as softly as winter moonlight to guide them away from the buttons of her shirt. So she puts her hands instead on Adora’s waist, closing her eyes and slipping into wordless serenity as Adora undoes each button with steady, unwavering care. Her eyes don’t open again until she feels the final one come free and the halves of the shirt parting, slipping down her shoulders. She looks up at Adora, shifting one hand from her hip to her face, once again brushing back a strand of golden hair behind her ear, that she might better see the silver of her eyes. 

“I love you,” Adora whispers, cupping her cheek, rubbing the broad, strong flat of her thumb along the edge of Catra’s mouth. 

They make love that night like it’s the first time all over again, exploring each other with rapturous touches and gasps of awe, slow and patient and lush with the luxury of time. They’ve fucked like it’s the end of the world, before. Tonight, they play each other sonatas with reverent fingertips, they burnish each others’ raw edges to a smooth, glowing shine, they kiss breath into one another’s lungs like after a lifetime of running they’ve finally reached the starting line. 

Catra is the first to wake, in the morning, so she props herself up on the pillows and just _looks,_ watching Adora breathe, comfortable and relaxed and no longer fighting invisible foes in her sleep. Catra realizes, the thought dawning on her like the slow, warming process of coming awake somewhere safe, that this is an Adora that has never existed before. This _isn’t_ the Adora that she fell in love with when they were both stupid, traumatized kids doing their best to survive a nightmarish existence with only each other to lean on. Sure, the core of her is the same - proud, stubborn, reckless, brave, determined, kind - but she isn’t that scared kid or even that good soldier anymore. She isn’t _Catra’s Adora,_ the image of Adora she held unchanging in a time capsule in her heart for so long. That person hasn’t existed in a long time. 

This is someone new. Someone who has begun, slowly, carefully, to define _herself._

And oh, how Catra loves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parting Notes From SolarPoweredFlashlight:
> 
> Wow. Holy shit. It’s done. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has come along with me on this journey. This is the longest fanfiction I’ve ever written in my life, and, I think, only the second multi-chapter fic I’ve ever actually completed in my life. It has been a whirlwind of a process since the very beginning; I started writing this fic the week that I finished binging all of She-Ra, and on the first day I started work on it I wrote 13k words in a single day. Special thanks goes to my friend and enabler Shockodile, who not only illustrated the first chapter of this fic (and, fingers crossed, will be illustrating more? :D) but put the idea for the fic in my head in the first place, in our excited chatterings together about what could possibly have been in a season six if the show had had one. They were the one that put my brain on the quest to find a way to redeem Hordak somehow, and they also gave me several other fantastic ideas for chapters and emotional beats along the way. They also beta read I think the first fifty thousand or so words of this insane fanfiction, and have tolerated weeks and weeks of me yelling excitedly about comments and hit counts and kudos.
> 
> Speaking of comments, I of course have to thank all of the wonderful regular commenters who made every single day a joy whenever I uploaded a new chapter. I cannot overstate how much motivation I got from knowing there would always be several people reacting to the chapter every time I posted, the thrill and determination it gave me to know I wasn’t just shouting my headcanons into a void. I seriously don’t think I would have been able to finish this insanely long fanfiction without you all commenting. It really, really, really means the world, every single time I hear from you. Readers who leave comments are truly a blessing to fic authors, and do more than perhaps they realize to ensure even more fanfiction gets breathed into the world. 
> 
> I hope everybody finds this final chapter to be a satisfying conclusion; I could have gone on, but it felt like a good final note to end this long arc on. At long last, I can take a bit of a break from writing after this absolutely frantic race to the end. I’ll be taking a break to do some dishes, snuggle my cats, clean my apartment, read some books… and then, when my batteries are recharged and my kitchen is a little less filthy, I’m sure I’ll be back to write some more Catradora fanfiction. I don’t know if I’ll return to this story’s timeline - I have an AU bouncing around in my head that really wants to be written - but nothing is really set in stone one way or another. 
> 
> Thank you everybody for all your support. I hope you liked this story; if you did, please leave a comment. It would really make my day. And, heck, if anybody ever does fanart of this fic (I can dream, right?) please drop me a link to it in a comment!! I would love to see it.
> 
> Be gay, do crimes,  
> SolarPoweredFlashlight


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